


Eir's New Wings

by msmami



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Bad Flirting, Dialogue Heavy, Eventual Sex, F/F, Medical Trauma, Mind Control, Mutual Pining, Post-Recall, Slow Burn, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-04-26 04:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14394711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmami/pseuds/msmami
Summary: Upon it's sudden Recall, both old and new Overwatch agents resurface from the shadows they've been forced into to see the world in worse condition than they left it. Among them is Angela Ziegler, the guardian angel of Overwatch who struggles with her new found responsibilities and the complications that arise when an old colleague isn't the only thing coming back to haunt her. Some old habits never die.





	1. Brynhildr

Angela hadn’t fully woken up until Fareeha’s voice beckoned her out of the routinely trance of her mulling over medical documents on half a pot of unsweetened coffee and five hours of sleep. The clock had yet to strike noon and yet the woman was containing a sort of energy that almost rivaled that of Lena Oxton’s day to day enthusiasm. Of course, Fareeha held all of this in a look of controlled and civil elegance someone of her experience had hardwired into her for many, many early years of training.

It was in the way she walked, her usual confident stride seeming just the slightest bit unbalanced as though she wanted to leap off the floor and into the skies where she belonged. But without the proper equipment, Fareeha was unable to take flight with a simple pair of jeans and bomber jacket over a tank top. Sunglasses perched on her head, she was clearly feeling her best but still polite enough to keep her warm, brown eyes open for Angela’s lingering stare. “I have good news.”

“I certainly hope so,” Angela replied, putting her documents down on the kitchen table, careful to avoid a smudge of peanut butter that just wouldn’t come off. “Did everything go over well?”

“Oh, I like to think it did,” Fareeha dug inside her jacket’s pocket to reveal a weighty Overwatch medallion, brand new and reflecting off the sunlight pouring from the nearby window.

Angela gasped, a smile breaking out across her face as she immediately bounded up from her seat to where Fareeha stood to lock them in a tight embrace. Fareeha beat Angela by a few inches and the broadness of the former Helix members shoulders are a bit of a stretch, but she makes up for it by returning a hold around Angela’s waist.

“I’m so happy for you,” Angela said into the fine leather on Fareeha’s breast pocket. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for the meeting-Jack’s orders.”

“It’s fine, I wanted to surprise you.”

“And you’ll be the first of many new faces coming on board with us. You’ll be a very welcome addition to the team, I just know it.” Angela said, pulling away and returning to the scattered documents on the table. “How is Helix feeling about all this?”

“They took it well,” Fareeha replied, still eyeing the medallion in her hand. “I’ll miss them, but I think they all saw it coming.”

“Can you keep your suit? I know you prefer fighting from the skies.”

“Kind of my going away present, actually. Torbjörn says he’ll give me some upgrades if I ask nicely.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Brigitte will do it anyway. Promise her donut holes and suddenly my launcher can shoot two rockets at a time. She’s got the Lindholm intellect but a Wilhelm’s creativity…and appetite. Hear she’s already getting to work on this old place, too.”

“I’ll give her points for being eager.”

It would take some time until the other Overwatch bases were up and running again, let alone that those behind it having the gull to even turn the lights on with the Petras Act being tossed around from courtroom to courtroom. Everyone who had even brushed shoulders with an agent were in limbo, waiting with baited breath for Overwatch to either continue their work across the globe without threat of legal punishment, or return to the shadows where they were all scattered around like their lawyer’s least favorite ant collection.

Winston would be playing a pivotal role in it all, him being the one who initiated the Recall and reminded everyone of the mess they’ve made. Jack Morrison and Ana Amari, formal commanders with the obvious absence of Gabriel Reyes, were obligated to be by his side once things were organized and ready for courts and contracts. Jack and Ana, refugees living in secret from the outskirts and society and rumored dead amongst the public were less than enthused about the prospects of their greatest accomplishment and shame being brought back to the table after all these years.

Announcing that they faked their deaths would be worth a hundred headlines while their eventual clashing with the Petras Act would be broadcasted live across every holopad in the world. But according to Winston’s unshaken optimism, things seemed to be going in Overwatch’s favor.

Winston was a dreamer but also a scientist just as prone to analytical thinking and a grounded perspective of the world’s current condition. He arose a fair point during both the Recall and to the board of very stern United Nations authority figures that the dismantling of Overwatch had only triggered a rise in widespread violence and corruption being acted on by both average citizens and trained terrorists alike.

As long as threats like Talon, an influential player that had managed to slip under Overwatch’s radar for some time, were lurking in the shadows and pulling strings before anyone could notice the noose they’ve been locked into, Overwatch’s expertise were nothing sort of necessary at this point.

Even if it was all temporary, even if it was only for the sake of taking down a few criminals before they could really do any damage, it was still a task no one else seemed capable of pulling together at short notice. Overwatch still had the resources, the intellect, the technology and experience to combat anything Talon had up their sleeve.

And with that came with a few changes that allowed Overwatch to prosper long enough to activate a few bases and recruit some new faces that were just as eager about the announcement as anyone else. Many young, many relatives or associates of older members, others proven to be capable soldiers in their own right, but had yet to offer a proper response to the call.

With that came Fareeha Amari that now brandished a glinting medallion in her hand with the organization’s symbol etched into orange and black steel. An official Overwatch member, the second Amari to join the field, this time wielding a rocker launcher and Helix suit rather than a tattered coat and sniper riffle.

The fates of multiple agents could be on the line, all this work could be for nothing and thousands upon millions could either be spending their remaining days behind bars, and yet Angela didn’t feel all that concerned. She of all people tolerated Overwatch being shut down, and though there were still doubts nestled in her mind, it did feel like her only real opportunity to make a difference and protect people again.

No matter how much time she spent mulling around from country to country with a fleet of trained medics, tending to the wounds of nameless soldiers fighting pointless wars, preparing soup for their children and grandparents-it all felt so small compared to the real threats that have surfaced. And she had to admit, it was hard for her to be a downer when Fareeha was in especially high spirits from her childhood dream finally becoming reality. But with that mind…

“Is your mother okay with all this?”

“Well…” Fareeha hesitated for a moment, finally pulling out a chair to sit down. “She had her opinions on the matter, but in the end of the day she told me that she wanted me to do what I thought was right. My mom has a lot of faith on me, she just wants me to be safe.”

Angela smiled, watching as Fareeha ran her thumb over the sturdy metal of the medallion. “I think you’ll make her proud, Fareeha. I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

“I hope so,” she replied. “Maybe things will end better for me, for everyone.”

“What do you mean?”

Fareeha chewed her lip, meeting Angela’s curious look. “I have to admit, I was a little blindsided by all the glory and heroic deeds of this place, didn’t quite get the big picture until I grew up. But, I think it’s having confidence in those ideas but also being aware of the true reality of the world that makes one a good soldier. I’m just hoping that I can keep that morality in line long enough to accomplish it all.”

“Don’t tell me my favorite weather girl is going to go cold on me,” Angela said, smirking over a cup of lukewarm coffee. “You’re the most noble person I know.”

Fareeha chuckled. “Nah, it was actually just the wakeup call I needed. Your own mother pretending to be dead for most of your life will do that you. I never want to be in a place where I feel like I have to make that sort of decision.”

Angela nodded. She did remember receiving the news of some of her closest comrades passing away, only to uncover the truth not too long ago. The emotional toll was devastating, to know she could have been their guardian angel when they needed it most and that she let each one of them slip through her fingers. Even with it all a hoax, it’s the kind of pain she knew she’d have to truly experience one day.

“Perhaps you won’t,” Angela said, trying to shake away the creeping anxiety. “I’m not sure what lies for us in the future, but I think Overwatch will be a little different now. We’re wiser people than we were in the past and keeping our priorities in check is a very important part of that.”

“You always know just what to say, Angela.” Fareeha stood up, stuffing the medallion back inside her pocket. “You seem busy, so I’ll get going.”

“No, no!” Angela said, an obvious desperation in her voice. “I wanted to go over some...battle strategies with you. I-If you’d like.”

Fareeha stopped herself, lowering herself back down into the seat with a coy look. “What did you have in mind?”

* * *

A sunset on Gibraltar was stunning. With the base overlooking the ocean and a broad horizon that’s taken the blow of a million space shuttles, it was hard not to be entranced by the amber glows of dying daylight washing over the scene. Gibraltar was a high-profile base, one of many that stationed Overwatch agents around the globe, and yet it all felt so secluded and quiet.

Maybe because Winston preferred it that way, or because he had no choice on the matter for so long. It was sentimental and bittersweet, and Angela can memorize every little nook and cranny as she passed through the rooms, finally occupied by newbie and veteran alike and bringing just a little more life to the place with laughter and an infectious energy.

So, she hated to admit that the smell of a lit cigarette brewing outside was ruining it for her.

“Ana, you’re smoking again?”

Ana turned her head to meet Angela’s disapproving gaze before offering a shrug, a lit cigarette between her fingers. “A little late to be scolding me, doctor. This is my third one today.”

“Ana,” Angela said, sighing as she walked out to meet Ana out on the gated balcony. “I thought you kicked this habit yeas ago. You didn’t want to set a bad example for Fareeha-at least, that’s what you kept saying.”

“She’s an adult now,” Ana retorted, speaking around the cigarette in her mouth. “You think she needs me to tell her smoking is bad?”

“No, it’s just…Oh, never mind.”

“Not all of us have the same amount of self-control as you, doctor.”

“You say that as if it was easy,” Angela said, knowing fully well that she walked into this one. She could almost feel the ghost of a nicotine patch on her left shoulder, but it was just the pressing guilt of an old addiction. “I took the steps necessary to stop and I did. And I never went back.”

Ana blew out an impressive stream of smoke from her lips. “How noble of you. Got any secrets to share? Ooh, and please let me know what moisturizer and shampoo you use. You think I’d look good as a blonde?”

“Ana, please-” Angela tried to suppress her chuckle. All these years and she still wasn’t quite use to Ana Amari’s sense of humor. While Fareeha had a fondness for puns and deliberately cheesy remarks, Ana’s quips always came with a certain tinge of melancholy and a high self-esteem Angela couldn’t quite tell was a front or not.

“I have to look my best when they shove cameras into my face,” Ana said. “I’m gone all this time and I don’t even have a trendy haircut. I also think I put on some weight, what do you think?”

“I think you look fine.”

“For my age,” Ana added, a smirk curling up the side of her mouth. “The hot new sniper on the market is winning everyone over. I think I might be jealous.”

“Do you mean Shimada or…?”

“Eh, both of them.” Ana flicked some ashes off the balcony and looked out towards the horizon. “It just reminds me that I’m getting there, Angela. One day I won’t be around anymore.”

“Why are you thinking about death at a time like this?”

“You’re the only person I can discuss death with, doctor. There’s only so many jokes I can make with Jack before it gets depressing.”

Angela did want to disregard the statement but found herself eyeing Ana from the side. In the disappearing sunlight looking over the base, Angela could see how time had weathered the captain into an entirely new woman. Her face all laugh lines and small little wrinkles against brown skin, a single dark eye peaking out from the white hair she didn’t have tied into a braid.

Without her gear she looks just a little more fragile, her sixty years of work evident in her tight knuckles and pursed lips puckering out smoke from her cigarette. Worn but experienced, like the tattered coat that hung from a wire hanger rather than her shoulders.

“I was actually hoping to find you,” Angela said, changing the subject. “I wanted to ask you something, about Fareeha.”

“Oh, yes, I needed another reminder.”

“Aren’t you proud of her, Ana?”

“I am, I am,” Ana replied, taking a long drag before replying through a heavy stream of smoke. “I just didn’t know it be so soon or if I’d be around to see it…Ha-I look ridiculous. Trying to make decisions for her at this age and yet…”

“I understand how you’re feeling,” Angela said. “I may not be a mother, but I’ve had similar experiences with almost any soldier I’ve come across in my days. You know they’re strong, you know they’ve trained for this their entire lives, and yet you still want to protect them.”

“And when they get hurt,” Ana said, pointing the lit end of her cigarette towards Angela for emphasis. “You’ll feel like it’s your fault.”

“No matter how much time I’ve spent being a combat medic, that fear never quite goes away,” Angela said. “So that’s why I wanted to know how you were feeling about all this. The fact that you’re smoking again might be a hint.”

“No, no just a bad habit of mine. It helps me think.”

“Well, I wanted to let you know that if you’re feeling nervous about all this, it’s fine. I know it’s a big change for both of you. And if anything does go astray, do know I’ll be by her side immediately.”

“That’s why I trust you, Angela. You have more love in your heart than should even be possible and the intellect to back it up. I’ve always liked that about you.”

“I’ve had colleagues that thought different.”

“Well, they’re wrong.” Ana replied. “And with you here, I can rest easy knowing that Fareeha is in good hands.”

“You know I could never replace you, Ana.”

“Oh, not as her mother. No, no, no-I had something else in mind.”

Angela felt a heat travel up her spine to her face, her voice low incase someone was listening from below. “What do you mean by that?”

Ana offered her cockiest smile. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Wha-Me? Oh, well I suppose we get along, but I respect Fareeha as a _colleague_ first and foremost.”

“How about second and third?”

“Ana, please-”

“I understand if you like my daughter, Angela.” Ana said, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “She did inherit my good looks after all.”

Angela smirked, rolling her eyes as Ana chuckled. “But lucky for me, not your sense of humor.”

“That’s probably for the best,”

As to what Angela had with Fareeha was certainly something she chewed on quite a bit over the past few months. For starters, they were certainly friends: They talked all the time and greeting one another in the morning and wishing a good rest at night felt like a natural part of their routines, they watched each other practice in the training range, shared stories about their adventures over breakfast-nothing particularly romantic. Or, at least Angela liked to tell herself that.

It was all in the way they looked at each other, when they were alone without the bullets and bloodshed distracting them. Angela would let Fareeha sit in her lab after a long stretch of target practice time and time again, knowing the woman’s eyes were fixated on her when Fareeha thought she wasn’t looking. Angela would marvel at what few glimpses of Fareeha’s strength training had turned her body into, still fascinated at how she could haul around such a heavy suit and weapon.

The opportunities when Fareeha would have to get her suit repaired by a very eager Brigitte gave Angela time to patch up any wounds and get a long look at what all that armor was protecting. Even without the flying metal skeleton, Fareeha was a unit of lean muscle and toned physique that could probably take plenty of punishment.

When the two of them were thrown into combat together the first few times as unofficial partners, that’s when they really formed a connection and Angela saw the raw potential the Pharah persona held. Angela’s Swift Response Suit and artificial wings were the perfect complement to Fareeha’s sturdy hover through the skies.

They could keep up with each other in ways others on foot couldn’t, the bird’s eye view for incoming threats and the warning to anyone who dare oppose them. A warning that they weren’t safe on land or sky. A quick damage boost was all it took for Fareeha to annihilate over a dozen active Null Sector troops planning out a new attack in Kings Row. They were the best duo Overwatch’s reincarnation was shaping itself around-above and dangerous, the rocket angel, Icarus with new wings-minus the theatrical names, Angela could say that she…liked it.

Not the violence, but the image of hope, healing, and justice the organization would try to stand by. She knew she was idealistic for assuming it would stay that way, especially if Blackwatch was going to be authorized again, but at least it was a feeling that gave her the slightest glimmer of hope for a better future. Fareeha was everything Overwatch needed right now: an image of modern day nobility without the arrogance, someone smart and cunning but not corrupt, a true hero who knew what it meant to be a hero. When Angela looked at Fareeha Amari, she saw a better future.

“I understand what you mean, Ana. But, I can’t say I’m ready to move that fast. I have a job to take care of and _a lot_ of paperwork to get through before I can even think about pursuing a relationship.”

“Suit yourself,” Ana replied. “No matter how you feel, I have a lot of faith in _whatever_ it is you have with my daughter. I think you two make a great team, maybe you’ll even be running this place someday.”

“I’m not sure about all that, but...” Angela took the carton of cigarettes sitting on the edge of the gate’s rail, smirking. “Cut out the smoking and maybe you’ll be around to prove me wrong.”


	2. Guðr

Whenever Angela dreams, on the rare occasions that she remembers them, she never touches the ground, or whatever her unconscious mind coined up as a flat surface. Her body stays in a near constant hover just inches above the nearest hint of the grassland or dirt. Sometimes she’s soaring places only the clouds could reach, massive wings breaching from her back and consuming an empty sky.

And from such a vantage point, it was so easy to see the world for what it truly was. She could see this mass of chaos, a mess of human and artificial life desperately clinging and scraping by for survival.

She could always see hands, empty palms reaching out in hopes to reach her, trying to catch a fallen feather. Skin and metal coated in blood, oil, and bits of rubble only stopping their selfish onslaught of chaos to desperately grasp at the first sign of hope.

The part of her that wanted to help and heal always came into play here and though her power seemed infinite in the scope of the dream, she had to force herself to flutter down to where the cries beckoned her. But as Angela finally tried to lower her body down to the diseased earth, something would wake her.

Turning her head to make out her flickering holopad, she let out a sigh as she saw it was ten minutes until noon. She could vaguely remember setting an alarm the night before, but she could just as clearly recall tapping her snooze button more times than she’d like to admit.

Well, Angela thought, stifling a yawn as she rose out of bed, it is still technically the morning. If she slipped out of her quarters and into the washroom in time, no one would have to suspect she over slept. Have a quick shower, take care of the morning breath with mouthwash, and she could retreat to the quickest pathway to her lab without anyone noticing.

Almost a fool proof plan, though the low grumble in her stomach said otherwise. The most important meal of the day, a bit of age old wisdom she wished she didn’t tout around so haphazardly to her colleagues. The last thing she wanted to do was sneak out for a half empty box of Lucio-Oh’s and let the rest of the agents see what her days as a night owl could do to her.

According to the noise partially muffled by her bedroom door, most of the agents were already awake and going about their daily routines.

Overwatch was never accustomed to assigning curfews unless an upcoming mission was involved, though Angela liked to think her internal clock could have spared her a few hours before.

Sighing, she got herself out of bed and to her closet, pulling out the first blouse and pair of pants that hadn’t fallen on the floor. A quick shower and to the upstairs lab immediately, grab something from the mini fridge and hope it wasn’t just peanut butter.

She tucked the clothing beneath her arm and stood close enough to her door to trigger the activation.  

Angela couldn’t contain her gasp as it slid open not to the empty hall Fareeha standing with a small warming tray in her hands. “Good morning to you too, doctor.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were up here,” Angela tried her best to straighten her hair in a way that looked casual. Fareeha was already fully dressed, making Angela’s knee length t-shirt and scrunchie especially drab by comparison, the clothes she planned to wear for the day set aside on the nearest chair. “I guess I slept in.”

“I usually see you in the kitchen around six, so I got worried.”

“Stalking me, Fareeha? And I thought your mother was nosy.” Angela replied, taking the tray from Fareeha and placing it on her nightstand.

It was a small meal, likely some leftovers from whatever was prepared that morning, but the single pieces of toast, some eggs, and a strip of bacon was especially appetizing and just what Angela needed to wake herself up. Fareeha even brought coffee-a fresh batch according to the smell and strength of the brew as Angela took a quick sip.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Fareeha replied, pushing up the sleeves of her jacket before clearing her throat into a clenched fist. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to test out that thing you told me about yesterday. Maybe do a test run before bringing it to the battlefield.”

“Mm,” Angela said through a mouth full of food. Swallowing it down with a quick swig of her mug, she properly responded. “Yes, yes I was thinking the same thing. It is a Sunday, so I think the training room should be free around this hour.”

“Great,” Fareeha said, beaming. “I’m ready when you are.”

“W-Who says I’m not ready now?” Angela felt some stray crumbs fall onto her shirt as she said this, trying to avoid eye contact with a smirking Fareeha.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “It’s just a little odd when I’m the early bird among us.”

Angela wanted to roll her eyes but couldn’t help the small chuckle that followed her next sip of coffee. If she was going to be embarrassed in front of anyone, Fareeha was the best option. Fareeha, who exuded a certain softness and warmth unlike the noble birds of prey that inspired her battle armor, was the welcoming air Angela needed right now.

Something just a little brighter than the sun in her doorway, not at all judging the mess of blonde hair and bare face leaving the slightest blemishes revealed without the aid of makeup and a discreet ponytail holder.

“I’m so sorry you had to see me like this,” Angela replied, wiping some crumbs from her mouth with the back of her hand.

“No, no,” Fareeha assured. “It suits you.”

* * *

 “Didn’t think we’d have an audience.”

Angela tried to steady herself, passing unevenly from one heel to the other. No matter how many times she stepped into the same suit and into the same bases with the same familiar faces, she could never quite shake the budding anxiety that always snatched at her throat in these moments.

Angela was not just a doctor but a field medic, and though she was plenty experienced with the trials of war, she was still no certified soldier. She had a PHD to her name rather than an honorary set of dog tags.

She wielded a gun but only as a last resort. Her uniform-the one she was fidgeting in without the aid of a mirror-was that of stylized armor and soothing, golden accents rather than camouflage and war paint.

Not like the battered histories of those a story above them, hidden behind protective glass and waiting for the show to start. Jack whose expression looked neutral and tired even from a distance and Ana who offered a reassuring half smile of confidence, waving from where she stood.

Oh yes, Ana was here too. That didn’t quite ease the tension working knots in her stomach, but standing next to Fareeha-or, Pharah as the situation seemed to require-her worries seemed miniscule enough to barely form an echo in the wide training room they occupied. If Angela couldn’t be the soldier here, Fareeha would definitely make do.

“They wanted to watch,” Fareeha said. “I…may have let it slip this morning about our little talk.”

Angela blew on her bangs. “I suppose it’s only proper protocol. Are you ready?”

Fareeha smiled before putting on her helmet, grabbing her launcher from a nearby stand. “Follow my lead, angel.”

She shot a signal up at the two commanders and the control panel that triggered the room’s practice mode came online.

A few rows of simple looking bots rolled out, hovering just above the floor. Mostly smooth and featureless aside from the built in cameras for faces and whatever madman decided they should be capable of feeling pain.

“One,” Fareeha, crouched just slightly, her suit building up the fuel it needed for a burst of energy.

“Two…” Angela fanned out her wings and set her staff forward, the subtle vibrations of energy warming her gloved hands.

“Three!” Fareeha bounded off the floor, Angela trailing behind her with wings outstretched. Her suit had a slightly milder jetpack than Fareeha’s, mostly built around keeping up with allies, though it was the perfect complement to Fareeha’s speedy traverse through the room.

As the bots were given the order to take fire, not a single bullet hit them. Fareeha certainly had more weight to carry and yet was nimble in the air, not hesitating one second as the bot’s ammo barely scraped past her.

Angela’s Valkyrie suit could easily mend any minor wounds, though the speed and swiftness of both her and Fareeha’s flight pattern kept them seconds ahead of the onslaught of bullets. Fareeha cocked her rocket launcher and Angela knew this was her cue, increasing the connection on the power boost.

A soft blue light emulated within Fareeha’s suit, traveling down her weapon and giving the single rocket she produced a devastating collision with the floor and whatever bots were unfortunate enough to be standing her way.

Angela brandished her blaster with one hand, taking out the lens of each training bot she soared past. Though Angela had more bullets in her magazine, she was greatly overpowered by the sheer force of Fareeha’s rocket launcher. Six rockets Fareeha had to spare and each one hit their mark, eliminating each and every training bot while Angela could manage a series of headshots even from the height they had reached.

The combination of the blowbacks of Fareeha’s rockets and the small but precise dexterity of Angela’s blaster had the room cleared of bots in a matter of seconds.

Though the training droids could only simulate battle to some extent, executing the strategy with such precision made Angela’s earlier worries fade like the bits of light fluttering off her wings and leaving a trail next to the smoke and heat Fareeha left behind.

Fareeha gave a quick nod over her shoulder, Angela’s cue to break the damage boost chain from her staff and settle to a hover midair, gun drawn and taking out sensitive joints on the bots before her. Not enough to cause critical injury, that would be Fareeha’s job.

When they both took flight again, Angela felt entirely weightless. The fading memories of her dream returned, though she could feel two sets of wings keeping her afloat. And she didn’t feel the same immediate dread when she lowered down to a hover to the solid floor.

Fareeha removed her helmet, shaking out her hair and offering the award-winning smirk the training the worthy of. Angela could only blush, placing her staff down by her side and looking up at the overhead compartment. The intercom buzzed the life.

“I’m impressed,” Ana said, a wide grin spreading over her face. “I’m no expert on flight combat, but I’m sure you two just redefined it.”

Ana turned to Jack. “How about you, Strike Commander?”

Without his usual visor concealing his expression, Jack Morrison’s look of genuine but subtle pride was visible much to Fareeha’s glee. There was a certain gleam to his eyes that was normally concealed from the world and the ghost of a smile curving up his mouth.

“Not bad. We should run this by the others and see if you can strategize around it. Maybe get some more folks equipped so we can have a flight unit in place.”

“Not a bad idea, if it’s in the budget.” Ana playfully pushed his arm. “I knew you haven’t lost your spark. The only thing your little routine was missing was some fireworks.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can suffice,” Fareeha said with a grin.

“But Amari is right,” Jack said, stepping closer for the two below to hear him. “You have good chemistry on the battlefield. If you can fly together, you can fight together.”

“You don’t see that every day,” Ana offered a quick wink to Angela, fully aware that the flustered combat medic was the only one who saw it. “Me and Jack have business to attend to in the main quarters. Wrap things up soon, Lena wants the floor in an hour.”

Angela smiled. “Of course, thank you.”

* * *

“You did wonderful, Fareeha.”

“You were behind most of the choreography,” Fareeha said, pulling her hair back in a ponytail. The single braids on either side of her head stayed loose, the beads catching the lighting from the early afternoon sun. “Though I’m a little bummed I couldn’t throw in my handstand.”

Angela chuckled, “Not exactly fitting for combat, but I’ll think about it.”

“You know damn well I can make it work,” With the training out of the way, it left much of the day open. Angela still had to head back to the lab for privacy and a chance to fill out the rest of her documents while Fareeha still had some early Overwatch initiation to finish. Though she had proven herself plenty, it was only protocol for newer recruits to take care of tedious forms. Security reasons, though an ex-Helix soldier seemed to know plenty about that already.

“I better get to work,” Angela mulled over one of many documents in her hands as she made her way down the empty hall, an envelope with the few that would likely get lost in the lab sooner or later tucked under her arm. “Who’d of thought everyone’s medical records would change this much in so many years?”

“Angela, are you the only certified doctor at this facility?”

Angela sighed, “Afraid so. Until we manage to pull in some interns, I’ll be handling the vitals and documents of the current agents. At least the ones here until we get more recruits on base.”

“Think we can manage with the hot water Overwatch is still in? I don’t imagine many people would be willing volunteers.”

Angela skimmed over another paper, taking mental notes on parts she still had to fill out and have checked in person with the respective agent. “There are a few medics still scurried around the globe who got the recall. Winston promised he’d give me the update if they ever responded.”

“I hope it’s soon,” Fareeha said, brow creasing in worry. “You seem a little tense.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Though being cooped up in a lab looking over medical files should have been Angela's happy place, she had to admit it was her least favorite part of the day. Overwatch had only been active for a few months at most and she was already in a stagnant routine, boredom that couldn't be eased by even the most robust papers on her bench.

This was all necessities, she knew this, but damn did it only remind her of how many more people she'd have to check and check again to ensure they didn't perish in the heat of battle. That they wouldn't crack under the pressure like so many have before them.

Once the rookies piled in, it would be another repeat of what she did today and yesterday, checking off names of people who were just a little too young or a little too old to be throwing their lives into the battlefield.

Another soldier, another possible cybernetic replacement, another body to burry if she couldn't make it in time-

Angela was greeted by one less distraction as her communicator buzzed on her hip. She undid the clip on the waist of her jeans to see a new message from Winston of all people. “Oh, I wonder what’s wrong.”

Fareeha looked down at her own. “No red alert, not even the indoor alarms are going off…”

“He says to head to the conference room, we’ll have to see for ourselves.”

* * *

Today’s emergency meeting was on account of a banquet being held in Venice, a city that stood as a stark reminder to original agents of the organization’s turning point.

It was when Blackwatch slipped out of their cover and into the spotlight no one wanted that things truly began to take a turn for the worst, and that was putting things mildly for what was to come.

If anyone from Overwatch was even allowed to set foot there anymore was debatable, though the digital letter on Athena’s screen was clearly custom made with them in mind-even a gold emblem visible in certain angles.

What kind of cruel irony was someone trying to pull with this arrangement? Unless, of course, Angela was just being paranoid. It wasn’t like she had anything to do with the Venice incident. At least, not directly.

“We’re not going,” Jack was the first to offer a comment, leaving a seat in the conference room open as he paced around.

“Let’s consider this for a minute,” Winston said. “Hiding will only add fuel to the fire, like we’re trying to hide something from them. There will be some very important people attending this and if we can make a good second impression, we might win them over to our side before anything nasty happens.”

“Charming our opposers so early, huh?” Jack said, not even looking in Winston’s direction.

“I wouldn’t call them…’opposers’.” Winston replied, coughing into his fist. “More like…potential acquaintances-business partners, even.”

The room was only occupied by a small amount of people: the respective commanders, fellow veterans Reinhardt and Torbjron, Angela and Fareeha little towards the end of the table and Winston analyzing the invitation up ahead.

The tension could be felt in the air, even over an arrangement that should of have been a trivial situation at best. It was more in the context, the idea that anyone would consider this a suitable public event for Overwatch agents just now deciding to make themselves public again.

“I just don’t know if they have our best intentions in mind,” Angela said. “I’ve been to these events before. The only reason no one’s thrown a chair at us before is because they couldn’t afford the damages.”

Fareeha laughed quietly, catching Angela off guard. “It’s just that…” Angela continued, fighting her smile. “I don’t want to make any mistakes too early. We need to be incredibly specific about who will be attending and have our scripts prepared. No oversharing, just small talk.”

“I can manage,” Winston said. “Would anyone else like to come along?”

The room went silent then, the only noise for a few long seconds being the single ticks of the overhead clock. Reinhardt adjusted himself in his seat, his expression oddly complacent and quiet. Torbjörn’s still, angry stare didn’t falter in the slightest at the news.

Jack, only slightly averting his gaze from the window, pursed his bottom lip, drawing more attention to the long scar that ran down his eye and the start of his chin. All of their feelings about the situation imminent just from their expressions.

Ana only leaned forward in her seat, passing a cautious look over to Fareeha. “Me and Jack aren’t quite ready to be out in the public yet. Announcing we lied about kicking the bucket at a party might sour things.”

“That’s a laugh,” Jack added.

“I don’t think there are any suits I haven’t outgrown,” Reinhardt added with a smirk, likely an attempt to lighten the mood. “Don’t quite have the funds for new attire at the moment.”

“I have a few things on my mind,” Torbjörn said. “Some projects on my plate and all that. Count me out.”

Winston nodded, adjusting his glasses. “Understood. No one is rushing you all to make this decision, so allow me to go in your place. You have my word that I won’t say a thing about this.”

“Let’s make sure that doesn’t change,” Jack headed over to the hall, quietly excusing himself while those left in the room watched until he was out of earshot.

“Jack does have a point,” Ana said. “Perhaps he and I need some time to figure ourselves out first, but in the meantime…” Her smile returned, something of mischievous energy glinting in her eye. “I think I know the perfect people that will make for great attendees. We need to show we’ve changed, bring in some newer…younger faces.”

At this, Winston looked over at Fareeha. “I suppose you can see why I wanted you to be here for the meeting, Miss Amari. Your attendance might be just the thing we need.”

Reinhardt chimed in, “Of course! Fareeha Amari, the perfect guest! I bet you could really turn some heads.”

“Or arise more questions,” Torbjörn added in a murmur. “How about you, doctor?”

Angela could already feel a pit in her stomach forming as she weighed out the chances of her having to attend the banquet.

Angela wasn’t bad at social gatherings, per say, just a little uneasy given the circumstances of most of them. Putting on a face, smiling, waving, practicing little white lies in the bathroom mirror and praying that the booze would finally kick in.

Her and Winston would be one of few eligible choices for returning agents and she could rest assured that he would be the one dealing with the crowds.

She, on the other hand, would have to maintain her composure and keep up the idle chatter as if her past few years in medical tents perched on the outskirts of diseased wastelands and war-torn fields was the peak of her glory days.

But, she had to. She knew she did. “Uh….I mean…I guess I could see. I’m not sure.”

“So Fareeha,” Winston said, luckily averting the attention away from Angela. “Will you be coming with us?”

Fareeha nodded. “I’m sure I can make time.”

“So, it’s settled,” Winston said, gleaming. “We do have a few spots left so I’ll ask Lena if she wants to come along.”

“She certainly knows how to livin’ up the party,” Ana chuckled as she got up from her seat and made her way to the staircase. “You kids have fun. I’m going to check on Jack.”

“Do us proud,” Reinhardt said, patting Fareeha’s shoulder heavily. “These old bones can’t move the way they used to on the dance floor.”

Fareeha chuckled, “I’ve seen you slow dance, Reinhardt. Not too shabby if you ask me.”

“A couple drinks and ‘shabby’ is putting it mildly.” Torbjörn left the room soon enough, Reinhardt following behind him with a string of explanations about an unseen social event that ended in a broken table and bar fight.

“Angela, you still didn’t offer a response.” _Damn._

“Oh,” Angela stammered, hopelessly raking her head for a reply. “I-I suppose I could come along. If there won’t be many former members attending, it’s only fair I come in their place. And besides, I’d hate for you to be alone.”

That made Winston smile, softly. “I’ll be the one who handles the questions. You just enjoy yourself.”

“And I’ll be there if you get nervous,” Fareeha replied. “It’ll just be one night.”

“This will be your first official Overwatch formal event,” Angela said. “I hope it’ll be exciting enough for you.”

“If there’s anything we Amari’s know it’s how to sweet talk," she smirked. "Or at least tell a good enough lie."

A living and breathing Amari with lighter baggage would still test the waters but keep things formal and relaxed in that way only Fareeha could manage. Miss Oxton, if she chose to attend, was just too chipper and friendly to stir any negativity in what would likely be a tense environment. Angela could trust Winston’s decisions to pick the most suitable agents to show up and keep the crowd at ease.

The only one with some explaining to do would likely be her. Stay close to the bathrooms and waltz around the outer limits of the larger crowd until they all decided to leave, she mused to herself. Don’t wear anything flashy, minimal jewelry and hair preparations just to be safe.

Contemplating her appearance wasn’t something she considered a priority most days, but it was a decent distraction as she left the conference room and tracked the fastest way up to her lab prior to the conference catching her off guard.

"Well let's try to keep the suspensions at a minimum," Angela looked back down at her folder, mulling over which one to tackle first. "But either way, I’m glad I could be your plus-one.”


	3. Randgríðr

If there was anything Angela did miss about Overwatch, it was the simpler moments. The dining area at Watchpoint was nothing too elaborate, not meant to fit more than few people at a time and only just enough chairs to keep some of the main veterans who were sharing a meal together. November had come early.

Much like Winston’s Recall had mentioned, “tearing the family apart” was something that dug at Angela’s more sentimental nerves about the whole thing and sitting shoulder to shoulder with her closest comrades, sharing stories and drinking as if they had a million more years to do it again was the sort of relief she needed after being buried in her work. Half a bottle of wine was emptied out, sitting on the table next to dirtied plates that were being tended to in the sink by Jack with surprising diligence.

Ana’s promise to cook that night had managed to lure him out of his quarters and the promise of liquor was what made him stay for longer than an hour. Angela declined the offer of a drink at first until Ana insisted they pose a toast to a successful Recall. It be rude to leave such a tender moment and one toast would only merit one drink.

“To the reuniting of friends, family, and the many more who will be joining us in the future. Let us hope the suits don’t have a problem with that.” Ana, her strange humor still intact after all these years, said as she raised her glass and had everyone clink them together in unison before taking a long swig. Something about drinking with friends felt a little binding, like downing drugged poison at a cult.

“Shame Brigitte couldn’t join us,” Lena said, rocking back and the balls of her feet with her chair just barely teetering behind her. “We saved a seat for her and everything.”

“Probably busy,” Reinhardt said, already refilling his glass. Though a dedicated beer guzzler, he didn’t mind polishing off some pricy wine if Ana was paying for it. “Just like her father, always knee deep in her little projects. Couldn’t have asked for a better squire.”

“Well I still hope she’s eaten,” Angela said. “If everyone’s had their fill, I would like to take some down for her. Is that alright, Ana?”

“Of course,” Ana put her glass down and began to cover up a half empty glass dish containing the casserole. Apparently some sort of Arabic recipe, it was rich with spices and a dozen meats and vegetables mixed in with thick and buttery pasta, just hearty enough for Brigitte’s tastes.

“Just make sure my best dish doesn’t become one of her creations.” Ana passed it over to Angela.

“Hopefully her expertise stop at metal,” Angela excused herself from the kitchen and headed downstairs.

It was late sunset now, possibly pushing a quarter to seven, and the rest of the base was at a standstill. A few running machines and newbies doing a post-bedtime jog here and there, but mostly silence as another long day drew to a close. Angela received a few waves and greetings as she made her way down into the hardware room to where Brigitte spent a hefty amount of time.

Balancing the dish with her other hand, Angela knocked just a few times, hearing a few pieces of heavy equipment be dropped abruptly and chair legs screeching against the floor. “Coming!”

A few bolts on the door were undone until Brigitte peered out of the crack, prying it all the way open when she saw Angela standing there with a warm tray in her hands. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” Brigitte opened the door wider. “I hope you don’t mind the mess.”

“You didn’t come up for dinner,” Angela said, setting the dish down on what little free space was available on a nearby table. “I take you were too busy to eat.”

“If by busy you mean I had a baker’s dozen an hour ago, then…yes,” Brigitte said. “But you know I’m not one to turn down a meal.”

“A shame you didn’t come up and join us. I haven’t seen you in at least a week. I wanted to catch up.”

“I’m sorry Angela, I’ve just been a little distracted,” Brigitte removed her welding gloves and set them aside, stretching out any tension in her back. “Reinhardt and Papa aren’t exactly seeing eye to eye on the recall and I can only escape from their bickering in here.”

“They were just a bit little argumentative tonight,” Angela said. “I’m sorry if this reunion isn’t quite what you anticipated.”

“Well, settling down does have its benefits,” Brigitte took a heavy scoop of casserole and bit into it. “Mm, can’t really get this kind of cooking on the road.”

“I know Reinhardt can be quite an excitable man. Hope he didn’t put you through too much.”

“Are you kidding? He’s great! A little delusional but I can’t fault him for his positivity,” Brigitte swallowed, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth. “He and Papa are part of the reason I wanted to come here. I was surprised Winston even wanted to include me.”

“Oh Brigitte,” Angela said, her voice growing soft. “You were a child prodigy, truly a genius just working off inspiration alone. You made armor for your cats to work on their stamina during playtime. That’s something I’m glad Winston noticed.”

Brigitte laughed. “Yeah, but that was little Brigitte. Now I’m making armor for the real deal. It’s kind of a lot of pressure but I never crack for anyone.”

“Trust me, I know.”

Brigitte had emptied out the dish in no time, clanking down the serving spoon into the tray and stretching. “Mm, I don’t know what that was but send my compliments to the chef.”

“Something Ana made. Surprised you didn’t need any water.”

“Psh, I can handle a little spice. Reinhardt made it part of my endurance training…or maybe it was me who wanted to eat Pachimari Pepper snacks in-between sessions.”

“Well if you’d like to thank Ana in person, you could always join us for dinner. Three times a week.”

Brigitte shrugged sheepishly. “I’ll consider it. I’d feel weird sitting shoulder to shoulder with the vets, y’know?”

“Nonsense, we’re family first.” Angela said, just now remembering one of the real reasons she had come down here. “I actually did want to ask if you would be attending the banquet in Venice. We received an official invitation and I was wondering if you wanted to come along.”

“Oh, I caught wind of that but it’s not really my scene,” Brigitte replied, adjusting the welding mask atop her forehead as if to further her point. “Besides, I don’t even think I count as an official Overwatch agent quite yet. I’m mostly here just for Papa and Reinhardt, do some errands if I can.

“Aside from their little spat, how are they?”

“Fine,” Brigitte said. “Well, at least by my definition. You are the doctor here.”

“Anything I know could never compete with your history with them,” Angela smiled as she took a longer look at the little girl now standing a grown woman before her. It didn’t feel that long ago that Brigitte was a child, learning how to hammer metal before taking her first steps. Brigitte was in the prime of her youth, but still an experienced and intelligent squire who proved herself to be equally capable on the battlefield. Her father’s creativity, her godfather’s chivalry, and her mother’s unshaken kindness; Brigitte was a combination of her guardian’s best traits, the one most unique to her being her fondness for cats.

The two Brigitte brought from home had crawled over from their pile of pillows in the corner to greet Angela, brushing against her legs and purring. “Hello there Mitzi, General-you’re looking well.”

“The others are back home,” Brigitte said. “Mama said she could handle it.”

“Pity we didn’t have enough catnip to keep them all satisfied.” Angela scratched Mitzi behind their ear, making the white-haired Ragamuffin stretch out their neck in satisfaction.

“Give them a place to rest and handle their business and it’s no problem. Though I have to admit they’re both terrified of Winston.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Angela said, more to the cats drawn to the leftover scent of food on her hands. “I’m happy they’re keeping you company down here.”

“Sorry if I’m coming off as antisocial. I’m still getting use to this place, is all.”

Brigitte had managed to slip herself into the nooks and crannies of the base somehow, mostly going undetected despite being the one who took tips from Reinhardt. Aside from some missing leftovers from the fridge here and there, Brigitte mostly kept to herself in the warehouse, surrounding herself with scraps of metal and works in progress.

Bigger projects hung from the ceiling or occupied about half the size of a nearby wall while smaller devices-one of which a helmet that Brigitte was tinkering with-were set aside on shelves. A bit cluttered, though it seemed to be specifically designed with Brigitte and only Brigitte in mind.

Though her and her father had similar work practices, Brigitte had a certain eye for both function and personal aesthetic. The hands that could weld and bend metal into any shape she wanted could also hold a paint brush with impressive delicacy. Tinkering around with plain old scrap could only suffice for so long and it was in the personal details that Brigitte truly flourished.

“You have a living quarter on base, don’t you?” Angela asked, noticing the small makeshift bed made out of a mattress and duvet in the corner.

“Of course,” Brigitte said. “But sometimes I’m too tired to head back up there. Besides, what if inspiration strikes and I lose it _the second_ I’m walking down here? Can’t risk it.”

Angela giggled, “And I thought your father was impatient.”

“This is mostly busy work, anyway.” Brigitte said, hands on her stomach as she leaned back in her chair. “Reinhardt’s shield needed some tweaking and my flail’s been having some harsh delays on the swing-maybe the link is tangled or something. I know they’re necessary repairs, but I need a _real_ project to keep me inspired.”

“None of this satisfying you?”

“Not really, maybe my heart’s just not in it, yet.”

Angela nodded. “I think I can see what you mean.”

Before she could offer a response, Brigitte noticed something slowly but surely displacing a few items on her work desk and the empty glass tray with subtle vibrations. “Do you hear something?”

“I certainly feel it.” There was the unmistakable presence of something big coming up ahead, rumbling through the air and making the hidden room vibrate. Angela could vaguely make out a few recruits causing a fuss, some seeming nervous about what or who could be coming. 

* * *

 “Should I call someone? Sound an alarm?” Brigitte said, standing erect and seeming eager to grab her half-finished flail for protection. It only reminded Angela about the lack of a gun on her hip in case it came to that.

“We’ll wait it out, stay behind and only hit up your comm if it’s an official threat.” They both walked outside, noticing the crowd growing around the open runaway. Keeping their distance and branching out even further when they noticed Angela making her way through. Though Morrison or perhaps Lena would have been a better choice of defense, her natural leadership over the group would have to suffice.

The object of everyone’s attention was a massive black jet. Vaguely similar to dropships Angela had been inside of multiple occasions for missions, though this one was big and bulky enough to accommodate maybe just a few people. On the side appeared to be its only real identifiers, simple white font spelling what Angela recognized as Korean.

“Do you think it’s…?”

“No it couldn’t be.”

The crowd was growing uneasy from the suspense, Brigitte standing closely behind Angela with a worried expression. “Should I be worried?”

“Not for any reasons I can list.”

The ship halted to a stop, it’s doors sliding open and a ramp rolling out like a catwalk. It may as well been a cat walk judging by a certain young lady prancing out of the doorway, smile wide and beaming as the recruits let out a collective gasp.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh.”

“Is this really her? Oh man, I hope she’ll sign my shirt.”

“No way, must be another a fake.”

“I know D.Va when I see her, okay.”

Clearly reading the room, the famous mech piolet bounded down the steps, waving and greeting a few members who recognized her. Many already had their phones out and were recording the event, the attention and atmosphere quickly shifting from uncertain dread to gleeful chaos.

“I wish I had brought you flowers or something?”

“Oh, that’s not necessary!” Hana said, signing someone’s arm with a pink marker she apparently had inside her short’s pocket.

“I have all your posters and merch! Will your limited-edition trading card be available again soon?”

“Depends on what my manager says. He just loves to tease people with this kind of stuff.” Hana posed for a photo with another fan.

“Diva?” Brigitte whispered to Angela who looked as confused as she did.

Angela nodded. “Yes, I can recall correctly she is one of the people Winston was interested in. He got some pushback for the choice but eventually Jack and Ana agreed once they heard about her work. Well, besides all this work…”

Even if Angela should had been expecting, this was still rather odd. Hana Song, the worldwide celebrity, soldier, and pro-competitive gamer, just prancing into Watchpoint with no planned fanfare, politely accepting the rounds of applause and praise she was so used to. Not even her famously hot pink MEKA was her method of transportation this time around, instead shunted in the back of a discreet black military jet that lowered the iconic piece onto the runaway shortly after.

Brigitte’s eyes widened as she took in the immense machine, too distracted to even notice it’s owner excusing herself from the crowd to greet Angela properly. “Hey there, Hana Song. I can’t help the feeling you’re important around here.”

“You could say that,” Angela said, shaking Hana’s hand. “I’m part of the med bay here though I think you should get acquainted with the commanders first.”

“I should have known.” Hana removed her sunglasses, placing them up on a trendy updo that completed the rest of her summer casual attire. “My marker’s got enough juice to get to work on those contracts.”

“Glad you're prepared. We prefer blue or black ink but I suppose-”

“ _Herregud_ , this is the first time I’ve seen one of these up close,” Brigitte had made her way to the mech standing proudly on the runway, looking but never touching.

“Nice engines,” Brigitte mused, rubbing her chin as she took a closer examination of the mech. “I bet they can keep you in the air for hours.”

“On a good day,” Hana replied, beaming. “It does come in handy for those pesky kamikaze omnics, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Enough rounds of Space Invaders and I can sleepwalk through it.”

Brigitte stopped her pacing, giving Hana a dubious look. “Space Invaders?”

“It’s a retro title,” Hana explained. “There were some reboots but the original still holds up in my opinion.”

Angela cleared her throat, asking. “So I take it you accepted the Recall, Hana?”

Hana blew a bubble of impressive size before popping it with her teeth, tucking the ropy pink strands into her mouth with the tip of her tongue. “Yeah, sorry for treading over it for so long, kind of a waited decision." Hana said. "And in the middle of a stream so the lag was on you guys.”

“Oh, well my apologies.”

“No biggie, that dungeon was too easy.”

“Dungeon?” Brigitte said, head finally peaking up from behind the mech. “What were you doing in a dungeon?”

Hana chuckled, “Man, I’ve _really_ got to get you up to date on what things are like outside of a warehouse uh….Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Brigitte, Brigitte Lindholm,” she said, giving Hana a firm handshake that took the mech pilot off guard from the strong grip. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Song. Or should I call you a Diva?”

Hana giggled. “Hana’s fine, really.”

“Hana,” Angela said. “If I can remember correctly, your preferd method of combat is to swap out your mech at least once per battle. Do you have more than one in there.”

Hana sighed, “Yeah, it was a newer strategy cooked up by the army so we’d be harder to detect. Mech I.D.’s and all that with how advanced the omnics are getting now, so they aren’t exactly made to endure a long duration of bullets or whatever it is you may have thrown at you.”

“And your self-destruct?”

“A dime a dozen,” Hana shrugged, as if ejecting from her mech to a cascade of neon green fireworks and destruction had grown monotonous. “It's a little dangerous to be honest and I may have unintentionally inspired some people with that one-time stunt. Unfortunately, Dae-hyun couldn’t come along to keep me in check.”

“Who’s Dae-hyun?” Brigitte asked.

“A friend of mine,” Hana said. “I may pilot the thing and I can definitely fix it in a scrap, but he had a few skills I just can't duplicate. Someone over coms to keep me notified, you know? And without him, I don't know how long this will last. The mechs have always been an in and out deal: bang it up and throw it away for a new one if you can't get the repairs done in time.”

“And this one?”

“No different,” Hana said. “It can take some punishment but once it reaches its limit-” Hana made a farting noise out of the corner of her mouth, thumb pointing down at the soil to emphasize her point. “I’m still trying to make arrangements, but I don’t think I’ll get a response any time soon.”

Brigitte seemed to be absolutely beaming at the offer, passing a look at Angela who offered a supportive grin. “Look no further, Miss Song. I’ll be helping you handle your MEKA from now on.”

Hana blink, taken aback from the offer. “Really?”

“It’ll take some getting use to but my papa always said I was a fast learner,” Brigitte said, giving the machine a firm pat. “You’re in good hands.”

Hana smiled and it was only then that Angela noticed the lack of iconic pink whiskers on her cheeks. It was certainly an interesting choice of war paint and the natural blush lighting up Hana’s skin drew more attention to just how young the girl still was. Only a few years younger than Brigitte who already seemed to be making mental blueprints.

“OMG you’re the best! Wait, any chance you want me to pay for this all this?”

“Not a dime. Now, do you wanna show me how this baby works?”

Hana popped her gum, accepting the challenge. “Well, you may as well get a good view of your homework.”


	4. Hrund

Hana Song was certainly an interesting choice of recruit for Overwatch. All those enlisted weren’t exactly the celebrity type, unless you counted having your face plastered all over government watch lists, and there were dubious looks passed around as she made her presence known the following morning. Winston was quick to provide an explanation in her defense to those out of the loop, praising Hana Song, better known as D.Va, for her skills as a pilot and assistance in the Omnic Crisis.

Ana and Jack, who had already agreed to her place in the group, supported his decision even with a few regulations they had to mull through while she signed her papers with a boring black ink pen rather than the glittery pink marker she had to keep tucked away. One thing that none of them were exactly enthusiastic about was Hana having her dropship be placed in the middle of the runway without going through the proper vehicle storage unit and most complaints seemed to end there.

If the commanders weren’t going to argue, the others saw no reason to doubt the young woman, even if her tender age and her reputation as the stubborn type left just a bit to be desired. Overwatch had dealt with way worse and way younger and what truly mattered was that they had an enthusiastic prodigy war hero as an additional tank in the field that would make for good press coverage once word got out.

But for Hana, it still took some adjusting. Live streaming her battles to her adoring fans may have been appropriate for the Korean Army, but Ana and Jack were quick to remind her about the multiple security issues that could arise from making such information public. Even casual vlogs around the base could easily be pried into and taken advantage of by hackers, another detail that had Hana Song a bit taken aback but still nodding respectively at her new higherups.

“Oh okay,” Hana agreed, her voice a touch stiff. “I had to announce a hiatus before flying over here anyway.”

“We’ll try to set you up with a more reliable and protected connection, is all.” Winston had said. “Reinhardt won’t let me hear the end of it until I do.”

The news seemed to have Hana smiling again and settling into a dorm without much fuss, bunking with Brigitte who spent just a little more time in her living quarters with someone her age to bond with. Aside from their shared project of increasing the durability of Hana’s mech and some tips to exchange regarding how to do so, the two hit it off mostly due to their different cultural backgrounds.

Hana seemed to enjoy explaining her day to day activities and interests just as much and Brigitte liked listening to them, Brigitte’s time traveling around with Rein in ancient and abandoned parts of the world leaving her just a bit oblivious to what new trends had emerged over the years. Brigitte had always been old fashioned and raised in a family with traditional values at the cost of her having limited experience with things as common place as video games and streaming platforms with Hana completely smothered in new tech until she could weaponize it.

Her few days here were as warm and welcoming as they should had been. Morning jogs, training in her mech in the afternoon, and the evening spent catching up on a game and chatting up Brigitte in the main lobby. “Oh my gosh, my party would love you!" Hana said, only peering up for a second from her device as she laid casually over the love seat. "We could always use a paladin.”

Brigitte chuckled, “Don’t know if the real deal translates well to the virtual world but…I’ll give it a shot.” She got up from her place on the couch, stretching her arms above her head. “I better head back the workshop. You’re free to join me if you’d like.”

Hana smiled softly, what looked like blush crossing her features. “Of course! I’ll meet up with you in a sec.”

“I have some blueprints mapped out that I wanted to go over with you. It’s _your_  mech so I’ll try to not let my grungy Lindholm style scratch the paint. See ya soon!”

Hana played with a strand of hair while Brigitte left, returning her attention back to her handheld game until her cheeks became just a little less red. Angela tried not to laugh as she observed from above, enjoying the show. She was sitting inside the overhead office space, trying her best to act like she wasn’t eavesdropping on Brigitte and Hana’s bonding session. She had no plans to intervene and didn’t have a single lick of romantic advice to offer them, but she had to admit the two young women had a spark-solid chemistry in just a day or two.

“Your tea, doctor?”

“Ah, thank you, Fareeha.”

Fareeha set the mug down, sitting down at the table with her own in hand. “I hear there’s some pie leftover from last night if you want any.”

“I’m fine,” Angela said. “I haven’t had much of a sweet tooth lately.”

“We should all probably be counting calories anyway if we wanna fit into a decent dress for the banquet.” Fareeha smirked as Angela rolled her eyes.

“Oh yes, thanks for reminding me.” Angela took a quick sip of her tea, surprised to see Fareeha had added just the right amount of honey and flakes of cinnamon. Just like the coffee from before, a perfect blend of bitter and sweet. “I don’t know, I might just wear something from last year. I’ve got some earrings that match.”

“Those pearl studs or the chandelier earrings?”

“Pearls,”

Fareeha pursed her lip, averting her gaze as she took a long sip of her drink.

“What?” Angela said.

“Nothing,”

“What? You have something you want to say, Miss Amari?” Angela said, her tone playfully acquisitive.

“Please, Miss Amari is my mother…”

“Are you honestly trying to lecture me about my fashion choices? Of all things?”

Fareeha snorted. “Look, I know you don’t want to be there, but it wouldn’t hurt to at least pretend like you do.”

“So, I should wear a v neck and garter belt? Or should I just skip the dress all together?” Angela was awful pleased to see Fareeha be the one who looked flustered this time, sputtering into her tea and having to wipe the splatter off her face with the back of her hand.

“It’s not that!” Fareeha said, trying to compose herself. “Maybe it’s just…nah, that sounds dumb.”

“No, tell me. I insist.”

“It’s just,” Fareeha began. “I never really get to see you in a lot of different clothes and this is the first time either of us have dressed up for the same occasion, like, besides a mission. I know we aren’t going as a couple or anything-I mean I _know_ you don't want to go as a couple! That's silly! I just thought it be nice to see how you looked in a dress.”

Angela circled the rim of her cup with her finger. “Sorry that my lab coats and ugly sweaters don’t fit your standards for high fashion, but it’s not like I don’t mind dressing up every now and then.”

“I’m so sorry, that was rude-”

“But I admit you have a point,” Angela said. “It’s not very often that I get to go out in my Sunday best. I do have a birthday gift I haven’t worn in years. May not fit me the way it used to, but I’ll wear it for you. Not for them.”

“There is an old suit I’ve been wanting to try on for awhile,” Fareeha said, already piquing Angela’s interest in seeing the toned physique of her unofficial combat partner in something so suave. “Couldn’t exactly wear it to any of my Helix events.”

“And why is that?”

Fareeha leaned back in her chair, allowing Angela to see the best angle of that trademark Amari grin. “My associates said it was too distracting, but I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

Angela tried to concoct just what Fareeha defined as “distracting”. Angela found her in a fur trimmed jean jacket distracting. She thought an oddly specific black t-shirt that revealed a little too much arm and just the right amount of chest muscle distracting. Hair beads in the sunlight and a dog tag tucked into cleavage-distracting, distracting, _distracting_. “You drive a heavy bargain, Fareeha. I suppose I’ll have to try my best not to outshine you at the banquet.”

“You’re going to a party? No one told me about that!” Hana’s voice came from the end of the room, startling both of the agents. Hana had made her way up from the bottom floor without them noticing, how much of their conversation being overheard was a concern for another day.

“Well, party isn’t exactly the word I would use-” Angela began.

“Can I come along?”

Angela and Fareeha exchanged looks.

“I…I don’t see why not,” Fareeha said. “We do have two slots left and you wouldn’t be the worst choice for the crowds. I don’t know, you might have to ask Winston.”

“Hana, do you think you can handle all the people who will be there? There will be a lot of important cooperation’s and political figures, so I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

Hana opened the fridge and pulled out a can of soda that oddly enough had her face plastered on it. “I could barely go a few seconds in Busan without people swarming me. Interviews, magazine covers, movies-I’ve had a little taste of everything at this point. Don’t worry about it.”

“You might be right,” Angela said. “Something tells me you’ll be a more popular guest than the rest of us. Hope they don’t change how they feel about you for leaving MEKA.”

“No biggy. I can handle more than a few Negative Nancie’s trying to drag down the mood of a fun party. They wanna know how a new Overwatch member is feeling? They’ll get it from me.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Fareeha said.  

“Wait, you guys said there was just two slots left. So, if I’m coming then maybe…” Hana slammed her can down, rushing downstairs shouting, “Brigitte! Brigitte! I need to talk to you! Brigitte!”

“I guess that’s everyone,” Angela said. “I should tell Winston that Hana will be coming along.”

“If she doesn’t barge down his door first.”

* * *

The current time at Talon Headquarters was half past two in the morning. The only poor soul up at this hour was a roomba that was only around because it didn't have the sentience to high tail and leave an organization of the world's most nefarious terrorists and murderers that found their own personal tree house away from the rest of the world.

Other than the usual machinery and maybe a few lights here and there, one longtime occupant of the massive building could outshine both in terms of fluorescent lighting and raw electrical power. It was no other than the facility's most talented hacker that would be tending to her business this late, or early if you're a stickler for specific time slots. 

“We should do this more often, _araña_. We never get to have alone time like this. There’s always someone telling us what to do, dishing out orders, guys looming overhead. _Blegh!_ Am I right?”

She chided sweetly before gently blowing over the wet polish coating the nails of her partner. She would call them a friend but the term only ever earned her a scowl or an empty stare. Both were equally chilling, especially with eyes that shouldn't possibly be that empty and liquid gold.

“I suppose.” She deadpanned instead, admiring the coat of maroon that brought some color to the dead circulation that dyed the woman's nail beds a lifeless black.

“Okay so do you want plum for your other hand or will that just blend in too much? Hmm…”

“I want red.”

“Red it is!”

Sombra swapped out one bottle of nail polish for another from the nightstand and shook it a few times. “This will really make your choke holds pop. The boys will just love when you get your hands on them.”

Sombra personally preferred her hideout in Castillo-small but functional and, most importantly, cozy. Though during the occasion that she had to stay behind in Talon HQ for personal affairs, she did take the time to make her den feel like home.

Some mood lighting, a few pillows, posters no one else wanted covering anything that might let people pry into her business, and a plushy computer chair that made her hours in front of her setup not put too much strain on her back.

No Arturito-any old teddy bear just wouldn’t do-but she had to admit that Widowmaker made for an equally good companion for these late projects.

Widowmaker wasn’t exactly warm or a prime candidate for cuddling but both of them being insomniacs certainly helped keep the nights interesting. Sombra could go on immediate autopilot once her computer was booted up and Widowmaker simply lacked the desire to sleep.

If she went into Sombra’s den out of loneliness was debatable, but Sombra figured Widow at least had some need for company in these wee hours of the night. Or maybe she just got bored without someone to roll her eyes at.

Unlike most days, Sombra actually had a project to attend to rather than just data mining for fun. To say it was even a hacking spree was an exaggeration, more like a time to brainstorm over documents a certain someone would be sending her way at any moment.

With the time difference between the base of operations, Sombra was forced to stay up until the early a.m to get her entail. Sombra could have easily slept and gotten back to it in the morning but where was the fun in that?

 _“Cuute~!”_ Sombra said, admiring her handiwork on Widow’s nails, filed to a point and now painted a rich velvety red. “You should wear red more often, mi hermosa.”

“Too bright,” Widow replied, her expression unchanging as she inspected her left hand in the lighting.

Sombra chuckled, “Because purple latex with your tits hanging out is subtlety one ‘o one. My mistake.”

Widow pursed her lips, casting her gaze over a random poster that was one loose strip of tape away from falling off the wall. “I suppose I could try lipstick. Maybe next time.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” _Bing!_

Sombra’s attention was brought back to her computer and she got up from her bed to address the floating icon sitting in the middle of her primary monitor. She sat down and tapped it open to see a loaded email filled to the brim with attachments, footnotes, and video clips so abundant with data she had to separate each one onto an individual screen.

“Psh, 'robust project' is putting it lightly."

“Moira, again?” Widow stood behind Sombra, trying to understand the mess of documents Sombra was trying to sort through by order of relevance.

“Yeah, another smorgasbord of this biotic tech nonsense. Some stuff she managed to keep on her even after Overwatch booted her out.”

“She’s still in Oasis, right?”

“Yeah, some sort of seminar. Ministers only,” Sombra decided to focus her efforts on one specific blueprint that came with a three-dimensional model she could maneuver around with her mousepad. “I gotta say, it’s quiet without her here. Not like she was ever the chatty type.”

“Anyone who doesn’t talk incessantly is too quiet for you.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t mind competition.” Sombra leaned back in her chair, pulling the visual of the technology into her palm. Moira was more into body parts than megabytes, but she could manage an impressive presentation with time, pulling together a message right up Sombra’s alley.

Finding the stuff without permission would be a lot more fun but the knowledge only paved the way for more interesting exploits later. Sombra tossed the model around with her fingers, the implants under her nails immediately reading the layers of code and feeding it directly into the part of her brain saved for storage.

“The caduceus staff,” Sombra mused, admiring the slick and simple build that was always in the grip of Overwatch’s most treasured medic. “Pretty complex stuff for a glorified band aid."

Sombra swiped through a few more files, popping up what she assumed was an older model. It leaned at more of a curve, perhaps an improvised handle, with bits of bright blue against the white paint.

The most jarring detail lacking from the current model was a massive needle leading to a single rubber tube. The blueprints attached to it hinted it served the same function with just a few more steps, but the design was more flimsy and breakable, lacking the durability of the staff Mercy currently carted around. It didn't seem to get much use, a prototype that was swapped out and made again a little after the Omnic Crisis was wrapped up.

“Why is she sending you all this?” Widow asked as Sombra pushed the image aside to instead open the folder on the Swift Response suit.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Sombra said, smirking. “Moira’s kind of in the middle of something. Another one of her little projects."

Widow groaned audibly, placing a hand on her hip. “When is she _not_ sticking her nose where it don’t belong…?” 

Sombra was taken aback from the sudden brashness of Widow’s tone. “Whoa, you’re lucky Moira wasn’t here to check your attitude! Why the long face?”

Widow pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “It's nothing,”

She picked up a random magazine sitting on the floor and flipped to a random page, already bored with the conversation.

Feeling the focus drift away from her, Sombra continued, analyzing the components of the Valkyrie Swift Response suit Mercy currently used. The tech bared some similarities to Moira’s own suit, albeit with some obvious modifications.

Moira had mostly scraped a few details and fixed it up with some different materials that prioritized the healing features of her pack and could shift in time with her ability to fade in and out of existence. Upon closer inspection, the properties and outputs that kept Mercy in the sky were mostly reversed or swapped around enough to make Moira’s suit only similar in a materialistic sense. Not completely different pieces of tech by any means, just recycled.

Mercy undeniably had a traditional Swift Response with very few modifications, prioritized entirely around rushing to the aid of injured soldiers in the field. Moira’s suit had similar functions that only took making a one a zero to get rid of the crucial gliding feature.

More of an “At My Own Time” Response than anything else.

And even details about the steps to make those decisions came with miles of text to sort through for keywords. Sombra was anticipating the files for some time but she expected at the most a single flash drive's worth of info to be sent her way.

Clearly Moira didn't want a single lick of it to go unnoticed and intended the only hacker she trusted to have a textbook knowledge on the equipment. Nothing Sombra couldn't handle, but it didn't make it any less of a surprise. Moira was serious about this, something that struck both intrigue and suspension in the air.

“I didn’t know medics could be so tech savvy. This is dense stuff.”

“They are doctors, after all.” Widow added. “If Moira is sending you all this I imagine she wants you to break something for her.”

Sombra laughed, turning in her chair. “Break?! I guess you could put it that way, but, we both know I hack things, mi araña. I play around with stuff until it does what I want.”

“Yes, break.” Widow reiterated. “I suppose that’s one thing you and Moira have in common.”

After the sullen comment, Sombra couldn't quite bring herself to turn back to her work, sighing heavily. Sombra swept the images aside, keeping a few on her person while arranging the others on her desktop for later. She got out of her chair, getting Widow’s attention with a gentle pet on the head.

“I’m sorry, babe. This is interrupting our girl time, isn’t it?”

“Hmm,” Widow turned a page in the magazine nonchalantly. If the woman was making a fuss over bonding with her teammate was obviously out of the question, but Sombra liked to think-sometimes even hope-that perhaps there was still an Amélie Lacroix behind that dead stare and cool skin.

Torturing and brainwashing someone into submission was an awfully harsh punishment to be married to the wrong guy at the wrong time, but that was the procedure Talon took to secure one of their most ruthless agents and have prospered ever since.

If anything, Widowmaker was a symbol of Talon, of just how far they were willing to go to achieve their goals, never dipping their toe into the fear of legal troubles and safety. If Talon wanted something, or someone, they'd take it no matter how much it kicked and screamed.

Widow was no stranger to snide commentary, though there was just something there in her statements that ringed an alarm bell in the back of Sombra's head. As to why was something she preferred not to dwell on. It would drag down the mood of their sleepover.

Sombra climbed behind Widow on the bed, undoing the high ponytail the sniper was rarely ever seen without and keeping the elastic around her wrist.

“Why don’t we try out some new hairstyles, huh? I have the perfect updo that will have you turning heads at the banquet.”


	5. Skögul

“Gosh! I never thought I’d get to see Italy up close! It’s just as beautiful in person.”

“It’s certainly much prettier when it isn’t swarmed with Talon soldiers,” Angela lifted the hem of her gown as she made her way up the steps and took in the scenery, the sophisticated energy heavily clashing with the eyesore of a suit and tie set Lena was dawning. “It’s awfully crowded for an invite only occasion. We better not get separated.”  

Lena offered a confident smile over her shoulder. “Just more people to impress, aye loves? Shame we can only be here for one night. Hope you packed your bibs!”

Angela laughed to herself, Lena’s goofy enthusiasm always managing to ease even the tensest of scenarios. Angela still felt wired to a point, even with the others following behind her to surprisingly warm welcomes. Nothing much more than a wave or raise of the glass, even a few clapping their hands together, but anything was better than picket signs and throwing rocks.

A jet just able to accommodate the six attendees was the most stylish option and easily slipped itself into the underground parking with many others. They all met near the front, a wide and elaborate entrance making way towards the large hotel the event was being held. In the night, the golden lights and flowers used to adorn the building shown brightly under a peeking moonlight. News reporters, scientists, athletes, writers and politicians all dressed in mile long gowns and clean-cut suits, some more familiar than others even in the formal wear spliced with a few new faces desperate to win over the higher ups with their first scoop.

The lobby was as elegant and lively as the outside. Cream colored walls and tiled floors reflecting the overhead shine of its multiple chandeliers. Even live music as promised, swelling the room with sounds of cellos, horns, and piano. The room was mostly tables, all assigned to a specific group of attendees and prepped with a vase of flowers and silverware.

Though the dinner had yet to be shipped out, the lobby smelled heavenly with a combination of spices from an obscured kitchen and clouds of perfume. Anyone who wasn't occupying their designated seat was near the front, possibly a dance floor, chatting among friends or entertaining journalists if they weren't journalists themselves.

“It’s so fancy,” Brigitte said, her preferred outfit a simple slate gray blazer and matching pants she didn’t quite look comfortable in. Her long hair was let loose, a single braid around the back of her head and fastened by a golden ribbon that the young lady beside her insisted on. “I have no idea how you’ve gotten used to this, Hana.”

“I know it’s a little much,” Hana said, waving at a few attendees who recognized her. She hooked her arm with Brigitte’s, pulling her to her side with a cheeky wink. “Just follow my lead.”

Brigitte blushed through her makeup but offered a supportive nod. “If you say so.”

“They make quite a power couple,” Fareeha said quietly to Angela.

“I’m glad Brigitte decided to come along. I'll have to thank Hana were talking her into it.” Angela stole a glance over to Fareeha who she already got a good look at in the jet, though could tell just what the Helix officials meant when they said “distracting”.

Fareeha was dressed in a mostly traditional black suit though the blazer was open just far enough to show the low dip of a white button up, her collarbone accessorized with a layered golden necklace that matched the shine of her hair beads.

It made for a fitting complement to Angela’s backless white dress, the skirt cutting up the side to reveal her left leg sporting a golden stiletto heel. A silk scarf around the arms, a clutch purse, and some earrings-dangling, not pearls-and the two almost looked like they planned this rather than wearing the respective outfits as a bet.

“Alright everyone, like we practiced,” Winston called the small group to attention. “Keep your heads up, confident but not cocky, and don’t try to avoid too many conversations.”

“Rodger!” Lena said, nodding towards the others. “Let’s leave a good impression, loves!”

And that they did. The night went about smoothly even with the dialogue mostly being centered around their attendance. Any Overwatch member flagged down for an interview jumped from person to person, question to question with an effortless poise.

Winston was the primary candidate for the Recall with Lena standing closely beside him to handle follow ups while Hana and Brigitte were the focus of those wondering about the inner lives of new members.

“Lindholm?” One reporter asked, scribbling something down in her notes. “Your Torbjörn Lindholm’s daughter? Overwatch’s lead mechanic?”

“Yes,” Brigitte said. “And I’m a mechanic myself.”

Once that little bit of information was confirmed, the rest of were swarming.

“There were some reports about you being seen with ex Lieutenant Wilhelm. Is that true?”

“I’m his squire,” Brigitte replied. “Though I am working closely with Hana Song of MEKA to fill in for her engineer while he’s absent.”

Hana nodded. “Kind of a big change but we already work very well together. It’ll be a long process but nothing keeps a D.Va down. Ha ha, GG!”

A cock of her hip and the heart symbol with her fingers and the reporters were rushing for their cameras. As expected, Hana was a natural with the crowds. Enthusiastic, bubbly, and paired with an understated yet feminine gown given a youthful touch with the aid of a massive pixel heart barrette pinning back her chignon.

She looked as playful and sweet as her D.Va persona was while still ready for the more hard hitters hoping to get their next tagline. They certainly had their covers planned already.

Angela watched from afar, sipping slowly for a glass of champagne in her seat. Hana seemed to know crowd etiquette like the back of her hand and her presence alone drew in multiple press sources more worried about her connections to the organization and if the brunette that excused herself from the crowd was an item with her.

“Relationships aren’t really a priority right now. I’m more concerned about asserting myself as an agent for Overwatch, someone they can be proud of.” Hana added. “And maybe MEKA will follow my lead and we can collaborate and create a second branch. Getting here was hard enough and I was mostly requested rather than part of an official Recall. I was the only one out of my group who accepted the invite but I’m sure that will change in due time.”

“She’s wonderful,” Fareeha said. “Even managed to get some people off me before anything rough happened.”

Fareeha accepted a glass from a passing waiter. “How are you feeling?”

“A little sick, to be honest.” Angela said.

“I’d say fill up on hors d'oeuvre before heading to the bar,” Fareeha said, smirking over her drink. "No drinking on an empty stomach, doctor.”

“I guess I’m just a little nervous,” Angela replied. “But, it’s not as bad as I thought. I’ve gotten some looks and a few questions, but nothing I couldn't answer straightforward. How about you?”

“Quite a few, actually. Sometimes I forget how popular Helix is."

“Anything about your mother come up?”

Fareeha polished off the rest of her drink and put the glass down on a nearby table. “Mostly just wondering if I was the real deal. The tattoo probably gave it away.”

“Well it does make for a good accessory,” Angela replied, admiring the Horus under Fareeha’s eyelid. “You might start a trend tonight.”

* * *

“Miss Amari, a moment of your time?” A young man in an ill-fitting suit was the one to disrupt the single hour of peaceful drinking at a private table. He couldn’t be much older than his early twenties and his lanyard identified him as an Oasis tech major. A few others were behind him, likely classmates. Fareeha looked towards Angela who smiled and nodded.

“Just don’t be gone for too long,” She said. “I can’t finish this bottle without you.”

Fareeha stood up from her seat to her full height, the young man who was already sweating bullets fumbled with his notes as he guided her over to a window. “L-Let’s head over here. It’ll be much better for photos.”

“If you say so, champ.” Fareeha smirked over her shoulder as she left. “I’ll only be a minute.”

A certain pro gamer people couldn’t stop showering with praise and Fareeha were shown to be the hot topics of the night. It helped the slightly less glamorous members of the group be able to settle down by a bay window with a pricey drink paid for by an anonymous fan, no less.

There was laughter and music in the air and the buzz of alcohol making everything and everyone saturated in a filter only tipsiness could achieve. As they took the time to exchange some casual chatter, Angela truly felt herself relax.

"I do hope they don't take it the wrong way," Lena said amidst their conversation, leaning back in her chair. "The commanders being no-shows...could look funny to some people."

"As far as anyone is concerned, they passed away." Winston said. "The Commanders will publicly confess some time later. When they're ready."

“And I guess some people thought Reinhardt and my papa died. Talk about mixed information," Brigitte said, a hand on her cheek as she observed the room wistfully. "And they looked so sad about it, too. I’m really starting to think people do miss Overwatch."

Lena cocked head. "You really think so, Brigs?"

Brigitte shrugged. "I’ve had my own opinions about it, but I do know that it’s one of few ways we can try to help people in need. Some might have a problem with that but it doesn’t mean we can’t change or improve it. But, that's just me rambling..."

“No, no I agree! I think about that every day-more than I’d like to admit. I’m scared, probably more than anyone, but I like to think the organization is in the right hands,” Angela stole a look over to Fareeha who was laughing and patting the shoulder of the student, much to the admiration of the two girls taking shots with their phones. “As long as we keep our wits about us, I think things will be fine.”

“Well said!” Winston added, preferring cups of water and a plate full of finger sandwiches to tide him over.

“That’s the optimistic Angela Ziegler I know!” Lena said, a raise of her glass punctuating her statement. “Cheers to new beginnings!”

“Precautious beginnings is more like it,” Angela said, tapping her glass against Lena’s. “But a new one, nonetheless.”

She bottomed the rest of her drink and let out a victorious gasp for air. It had to be the alcohol numbing her senses, but the euphoria was just as intoxicating. Brigitte was probably right, Overwatch’s reign may have been the subject of debate and not yet fully legal, but the majority they were dealing with tonight was surprisingly jovial.

Inquisitive, yes, but suspensions were a given when an organization lost in time and the heat of war made a sudden comeback per the request of their talking gorilla.

Overwatch would never be perfect, never be as fully righteous as it wanted to be, but desperate times called for desperate measures when chaos was rampant. Even in the calmness of this little slice of paradise they were sharing, there was always death and disease lurking somewhere out of their field of view.

The main difference was that instead of sitting on the sidelines, Angela could do something about it. _They_ could do something about it.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so…"Oh no,”

“Angela, what’s wrong? Angela?” Brigitte asked.

Angela froze, her grip around her drink threatening to slip as sweat beaded across her skin. Brigitte tried to follow her gaze, blinking to adjust her vision of what was before her. “Is that woman…blue? I-Is she sick?”

“That’s one way to put it,” Lena replied, her tone turning sour as she noticed the woman in question looking towards them. Her choice of attire certainly made Angela feel less insecure about her own exposed skin.

A plunging neckline a few lucky waiters hopefully got a peak under just barely concealed supple breasts and the cut running down the back revealed an expanse of a skin and natural muscle built up from either ballet or a few years worth of butting a riffle against people’s throats.

Beside her was someone else equally dreaded, a large man fitted in a dark suit with the only splash of color being in his tie and the hand of the sniper who tugged on his sleeve to get his attention. She excused herself from the group she was conversing with, the man following close behind her.

“Bonjour, mes amis.” Amélie said. “A pleasure to see you all.”

“The feeling’s not mutual,” Lena said. She  craned her neck to look at the man behind her. “Akande?”

“Miss Oxton,” Akande Ogundimu, better known as the newest successor of the Doomfist gauntlet, said, his smile wide. “It’s been awhile since we last talked.”

“Almost hard to recognize you without that twenty-pound boxing glove on your fist,” Lena replied. “Not proper formal wear?”

“It would get in the way of dinner, which is starting soon.” Akande replied. “I hope you all didn’t fill up on hors d'oeuvres. The lobster is amazing.”

“Sombra will have plenty of room if she doesn’t drink herself sick,” Amélie took a sip from her glass, not even a smear of red lipstick staining it as she pulled away. “Where is she, by the way?”

Akande sighed, “I’m not sure. I hope our master of disguise isn’t too good for greeting old friends. Oh where, oh where could she be…?”

Muffled snickering could be heard from behind Akande until the woman in question popped up from behind him. No invisibility, just a childish attempt to obscure herself behind the larger man.

“Hola!” Sombra said, arms above her head and letting the overhead light catch the shine of her many, many silver bangles. Even with the hairdo that otherwise wouldn’t be black tie friendly, it managed to only complement Sombra’s tasteful countering to her round face and the silky bends of her dark dress. “So glad you guys decided to stop by. Thought you be a no-show for some reason.”

“Hello Sombra,” Winston said, his patience not yet slipping despite the many colorful characters he’s been forced to interact with already. “We thought it be rude to decline.”

“Good, good,” Sombra wrapped an arm around Amélie, using the taller ally to support her sunken frame. “The more the merrier…”

“I don’t get it,” Lena said. “If Overwatch is such a controversial choice of attendee, why is Talon any better?”

“Because tonight we aren’t Talon, mon chéri.” Amélie correctly coldly. “We’re merely affiliates here to address stock holders in the Ogundimu Prosthetics Cooperation.”

Akande nodded, adjusting his necktie proudly. “Business is booming, after all. I thought I could let some of my most valued assets participate in the festivities. But this event isn’t for me, of course.”

“There are an awful lot of Oasis members here,” Winston said, pushing up his glasses on his nose. “I didn’t see their name in the invite.”

“It was a surprise,” Akande said. “Oasis prefers to keep things subtle, no matter how grand the occasion may be. They are an entire society built on nothing but raw, unrestricted knowledge, after all. They felt a gathering such as this would be fitting to celebrate their anniversary."

“Strange, and they’re usually so private.” Angela said. "Let me guess. They didn't want their name attached to the invites to avoid competitors hoping to get the information from the source. Rival colleges, professors-just good press outlets from big name studios to sing their praises. Why we're here is the real question."

Winston cleared his throat. "Overwatch may not be a business or college, but it is still a multidimensional task force. Who knows, maybe one day Oasis will come to our aid. We could always use some graduates in our technical and med bay. Don't you agree, Dr. Ziegler?"

"I'm fine, thank you." 

“They were contemplating inviting Vishkar," Akanade said. "But I hear they’re a bit occupied with personal affairs.”

“They would had been a much more attractive substitute.” Angela murmured, even if her knowledge on the cooperation was limited, a bunch of hard light engineers would have at least kept to themselves.

Maybe some free samples of whatever tech they were developing instead of passive aggressive threats and letting their affiliates run around like lost dogs. Angela knew the alcohol was making her so snippy, even if she was getting herself worked up over a few college kids that might one day be interning for her. Not a single Minister was even in attendance, something she was pleased to notice.

“Oh wait! I almost forgot,” Sombra untangled herself from Amélie’s shoulders, doing a half stumble towards the table. “Angela-Angie, mind if I steal ya for a second?”

“Me?” Angela blinked. “Why? If there’s anything you want to discuss, you can say it in front of all of us.”

“No, no, I have nothing to do with this,” Sombra explained. “I’m just the messenger this time around. Who really wants to chat is _way_ up there. Colleague of ours, business partner and all that...”

She pointed up, giving an awfully vague idea of what height they’d be traveling. Angela furrowed her brow, hoping her colleagues could offer some advice. Winston gave a tight-lipped nod while Lena, nervously toying with her cuff links, said. “Only if you want to, doc. Even Talon can’t force you to do this.”

Brigitte, only partially unaware of just how dangerous one-on-one Talon interactions could be, motioned to get out of her seat. “Mind if I come along…uh, Sombra?”

“Sorry, chica. No can do,” Sombra said, interjecting before Angela could offer her approval. “This is completely private and besides, Angie here can take care of herself, right? I promise, it’s nothing a big girl like her can’t handle.”

“Well, I suppose- _Whoa!_ ”

Sombra already had a firm grip on Angela’s wrist, pulling her out of her chair and to whatever hell she had planned for the two of them. There destination was the nearest elevator and Sombra was kind enough to release her wrist when they stepped inside.

Angela could vaguely make out Fareeha from the crowd, still taking questions from the Oasis student.

As much as she wanted to bolt out of the doors while they were still ajar, she considered how suspect it would look to rush back into the lobby when she didn't even know who was requesting her presence. Sombra was always a tricky one to peg down.

A Talon agent and the world's most dangerous hacker, but such a wild card it was hard to tell who she considered a trusted alley. She could only suppose that a woman that could barely keep her head up was a better person to be stuck in an elevator with than a completely sober Akande or lightly buzzed Widowmaker. 

She supposed that the agents actually were here for business reasons. They were just as likely to keep their cover discreet, especially with such a large audience to admire them if they were even planning a mass murder. As they said, they weren't Talon tonight, just associates of a mega cooperation. No use sullying Akande's brand if it wasn't part of some elaborate plot.

“Now what floor was it?” Sombra mused, starring at the control panel at the side of the door for just a little too long before keying in for the twenty-fifth floor. For the long ride up, there was only silence. Sombra took the time to massage her temples with the pads of her fingers.

Angela wasn’t exactly in the mood to strike up a conversation with the hacker, though she had to admit having one of Talon’s most intelligent agents too wasted to try anything put at her ease for the slow minutes she spent watching the numbers roll up higher and higher. The only thing to dread was what was waiting for her.

“Sombra?” She finally said.

“Yeah?”

“Who is it exactly who wants to see me? You weren’t clear about that.”

“And ruin the surprise?” Sombra said, smirking. “Nah, that would be way less fun. Shame I won’t get to see the look on your face once you guys reunite and all that. I’m tearing up already.”

Angela heard the elevator ding and the doors open to a long and empty hallway alight with dark blues and black marble making up the floor. Just doors from what Angela could make out, one particularly wide one towards the end. “This is our stop.”

Angela walked out, looking behind her. “You’re not coming?”

“Nah, this is kind of a mano y mano thing, I don’t wanna get in the middle of it. Too messy. Oh, and you’ll need this,” She reached inside the front of her gown and handed Angela a featureless key card, an unpleasantly warm one. The doors shut themselves again, Sombra offering a quick wave. “Go to the last door. Don’t keep ‘em waiting.”

And she was gone, leaving Angela only hypothetically alone in the immense hallway. Childhood fears of the dark began to encroach her as she stepped slowly towards the large double doors, heels clicking against the floor and drowning out her quickening heartbeat. As Angela made her way down, she tried to think of any possible person who could be waiting for her in such a lofty suite.

McCree, maybe? No. If he could afford something like this was questionable enough and it wasn’t like he would turn up from his mission in the Southern US just to drop by in such a mysterious way. And besides, a party where McCree didn’t prioritize booze wasn’t a party he cared about.

Genji was even less likely and was off with his Omnic master at the Shambali Monastery for some sort of important, Iris-centric ceremony. He had too much pride to ditch it without a word just to see his favorite doctor again.

Angela was out of options, and distractions, when she finally made it to the door. She waved her key card in front of the scanner and the door immediately slid open for her, revealing a lofty room filled to the brim with leather furniture and a cubic glass table hosting a small collection of candles.

Dark with midnight blue wallpaper coating every inch of the small square, there was only some selective lighting in certain corners of the walls, barely enough to make out the rest of the room.

A bar with a well-dressed but silent Waitron Omnic was off in the corner, assuring Angela with the hope she wouldn't kill her buzz while she was here. And finally, a window draped with dramatic velvet curtains, but it only revealed just how high up Angela was and the distance she would fall without her Swift Response suit.

Granted, she would be enjoying the view of Venice a lot more if the room’s occupant wasn’t so achingly familiar.

“Good evening, Dr. Ziegler.” A pair of thin lips curled into a pleased smile, eyes of red and blue half lidded and satisfied. “It’s been far too long. Hasn't it, angel?"


	6. Róta

“Why are you here?”

“I’m an Oasis Minister, Angie. Been one for a while now.”

“I-I knew that! What are you doing in _here_?” Angela gestured to the small suite, knowing fully well how frantic she must have looked. Never a good thing to lower your defenses around Moira O’Deorain, one of many mistakes Overwatch intended to push into the recesses of their messy past. Angela tried to remember as the panic began to wear off that such a one on one intervention would be delicately orchestrated to leave her at her most vulnerable. Moira saw a paper cut and would make it a wound if she so pleased and Angela had no intention of giving the geneticist the satisfaction.

The woman in question looked just a little too comfortable, a pair of pinstriped dress pants complementing a dark suit jacket and white button up that dipped dangerously close to her naval was her outfit of choice for the occasion. No bra, as usual. Probably not even a strip of tape to keep her small breasts from slipping out of the collar. Other than the attire that seemed to be picked specifically for the event, Moira looked about the same as she did all those years ago. Some deeper crow’s feet and laugh lines made prominent in the cool lighting, but not a touch of gray to her scalp or nary a wrinkle or sag along the skin of her chest.

“It’s far too noisy down at the lobby,” Moira explained plainly. “I can barely hear myself think, let alone anything an old colleague of mine might have to tell me.” At that, she shifted over to the side, gesturing towards the spot next to her. “Please, have a seat. Standing in those shoes all day must be dreadful.”

Angela, realizing her only options were to deal with Moira now or deal with Moira with an audience, reluctantly walked over to the couch. She sat down far on the edge of a cushion, as close to the door as she possibly could and as far away from Moira’s relaxed posture would allow on a two-person piece of furniture.

“Go on,” Angela said, giving Moira the floor even if she knew for a fact the Irish woman had full intentions of filling up an hour or less with her yammering. Taken aback from Angela’s invitation to speak, Moira adjusted herself to a more respectable posture.

“You must know something, Angela.” Moira swished the vodka around in her glass, seeming more occupied with the olive dancing around the rim than Angela’s bemused look.

“Since I was young, I’ve always told myself that everything and everyone can be traced back to a scientific explanation. And if I ever had the opportunity, I would uncover each and every facet that fascinates me. The mysteries of the world are what led me to pursue science, to pursue genetics, to pursue what the rest of the world had to offer me when Overwatch decided my methods were beyond their morality.”

“We both know it was more than that, Moira.” Angela said. “No need to flatter yourself.”

Moira cleared her throat. “As I was saying, there are things I realize are still beyond my understanding. No matter how much I study, no matter how much I create and dissect, I have yet to uncover what secrets might be lying beneath the surface and it haunts me to this day. To think you had all the cards in place to understand the world’s most complex problems, only to be besmirched by something as simple as a lack of resources. No collaboration, no one to discuss and understand me. It grew…tiresome.”

“Pity your friends at Talon couldn’t aid you in this endeavor,” Angela’s tone grew smug. “No one at that massive terrorist organization on your level of intellect, Moira?”

“Not quite,” Moira replied. “Intelligence may be a major playing factor, but to assume anyone of any area of study can work well together based merely off IQ points alone is such a shallow ideology. I’m not interested in some stray intellectual who plays teacher’s pet. It’s not the same.”

Angela felt bile crawling up her throat-or maybe just the combination of champagne and shrimp from earlier-and had to bite it back long enough to keep her cool. She knew where Moira was going with this. It was on the tip of her tongue-a suggestion, an offer, the promise of something greater then what Angela already had.

“How unfortunate,” Angela said dully. “But it’s an even bolder assumption to think I would share a lab with you again.”

“Oh no, I’m sure Oasis can accommodate you! The labs are awfully spacious though private offices are a must for our top performing scientists.”

Angela focused on her nails clutching the fabric of her gown, freshly painted a vibrant gold and yet far less flamboyant than the long and crooked claws Moira called a good manicure. “An invitation to Oasis. This is what this is all about?”

“Partially,” Moira smirked. “You don’t honestly think I’d drag you to Talon, did you? They’d eat you alive! I wouldn’t even dream of it. Oasis is more your speed, dear.”

“I…I can’t-”

“With your credentials and robust resume, you could easily climb your way up the academic ladder. A professor would befit you, or perhaps a head scientist of one of our divisions,” Moira finished her drink and put her glass down on the table. “But in my opinion, you would be an _excellent_ Minister. A Minister of Medication or maybe Biology-anything you’d like.”

“Moira, I’m not going to Oasis. They asked for me once-hell, more than once the second they heard about Overwatch disbanding. I said no then and I’m saying no now.”

“This is a wonderful opportunity you’re squandering, Angela. Overwatch may be a hotbed of scientific exploration, but they’re only brushing over the scraps that Oasis already discovered months prior. Life as a field medic will only keep you stationary, static and unfulfilled. I knew I deserved a better life, so I pursued just that.”

“You were fired,” Angela corrected. “You were tossed out like a misbehaving dog because you couldn’t stop making a mess of everything you touched.”

“And I suppose I should thank the commanders for their sincerity.” Angela heard Moira shift in her position, standing up from her seat and taking the short path to where Angela was. “Without them, I wouldn’t had known what I was leaving behind for the sake of a paycheck. You see, you and I were both in the same corporate trap. Fate just pushed me out the door before I did it myself.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “Always the wordsmith…”

“Oh, don’t do that to me, Angela. I know you get tired of it, and if not now, then later.” Moira began, her voice lower than usual as she stood before Angela, hands folded behind her back.

Angela recognized this tone, this posture; this lulling and methodical way Moira would preset herself to draw even the most impatient people to her attention. Angela didn’t avoid Moira’s intense gaze, meeting the taller woman’s judgmental stare with equal intensity.

“Patient after patient, teetering around whatever safe zone your higher ups said you could pass through. A true scientist never settles for less. We exist to discover things no one else has the drive or intellect to pursue themselves and it does pain me to see one of the brightest people I’ve ever met wasting away in the corners of a tiny little doctor’s office.”

“I have a responsibility to serve my organization. I’m a doctor first and a scientist by circumstance and I have no interest in running off to Iraq to pursue some fantasy with strangers.”

Moira chuckled, “Afraid to leave the little cage they built for you, darling? That’s how they lure you in, keep you comfortable long enough to fall into line and silence yourself. Pity the boldest thing you’ve ever accomplished was signing the papers that stripped away Agent Shimada’s humanity.”

“I saved his life,” Angela replied curtly, standing up even if she knew she couldn’t challenge Moira’s height. “It was the only way. You know I didn’t make the body, I just authorized and observed it as his personal medic. And besides, you’re one to talk about ‘humanity’. I worked alongside Overwatch to give Genji a second chance to live while you slinked off into the shadows so you could treat everyone who had the misfortune of meeting you like a plaything. I may have done some things I’m not proud of, but at least I always had good intentions. I could never say the same for you.”

“Some choice words, Angela.” Moira placed her hands on her hips, cocking her head to the side. “And here I thought I would be the one lecturing you.”

“Things never seem to pan out the way you expect,” Angela said, pushing Moira aside and walking towards the door. The emptiness of the dark hallway before her looked welcoming by comparison. “I hoped you would have noticed a pattern at this point.” 

She was out of the door before Moira could offer a response and luckily the click of her heels was the only sound that followed Angela as she went back to the elevator and set the course for the lobby. She tried to collect her thoughts then and there, resting her head against the wall just in time to make out a “NO SMOKING” sign above the door. Even in privacy, she fought the urge to cry, focusing on the slow descent to the lobby with a poker face firmly in place.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Angela assured a worried Lena who was standing next to the elevator for who knows how long. Lena looked over the doctor with a scrutinizing look, checking for the faintest wrinkles or signs of distress.

“Hmm…”

“I’m fine, Lena!” Angela said, laughing to herself. “I appreciate the concern though.”

“Sombra didn’t come back and I got worried. I was about _this close_ to looking over every floor if it meant tracking you down, Doctor. You never know what these Talon goons may have up their sleeve.”

Angela pushed back a loose strand of hair, humored yet flattered at Lena’s instinct to jump head first into conflict no matter the circumstance. Talon’s presence here, no matter how minor, could have devastating effects if they weren’t too careful. Angela only agreed to come along out of obligation to keep the environment cordial and she was lucky to have left that room with only a bad taste in her mouth. “Sombra didn’t seem to be personally interested in me. She was just my attendee for my real guest.”

“And who was that?”

Angela bit her lip, knowing for a fact Lena would have even more questions if she knew Moira was the one who set up the private visit. Though Moira’s reputation around Overwatch spoke for itself, there was still a plethora of minuscule and not so minuscule details that only the two doctors had between each other. Some things that could never hope to leave the lab or the shady files in a desk drawer or the archives of a computer. Everyone knew just how dangerous Moira was, but none of them truly _knew_ Moira.

“Oh, well…it was just-”

“Angela!” Fareeha’s voice broke through the fog and Angela let out an exasperated sigh of relief. Fareeha strolled over, grin wide and welcoming. “I lost you for a second when I was being interviewed, but you’re here just in time.”

“In time for what?”

“Oh yeah!” Lena clapped her hands together, seeming to drop the previous topic. “We’re having a little jig soon! _Couples only~”_ Lena singsonged the last bit, expression fixed into a goofy smirk. “Can’t call it a proper soiree without a slow dance, loves. Then it’s on to the real banquet part of this banquet!”

“A slow dance?” Angela looked over at Fareeha who was the slightest bit flustered from Lena’s interjection.

Fareeha rubbed her neck, shrugging. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it down in time, but I mostly wanted to know if you were interested.”

Angela could hear Lena humming happily to herself, rocking on the balls of her feet with an enthusiastic bounce. Angela nodded, taking Fareeha’s arm and feeling her anxieties from before melt into the warm embrace of Fareeha’s touch. “I’d be delighted.”

* * *

 “I can’t even remember the last time I’ve danced. I apologize in advance if I step on your toes.”

Fareeha chuckled, “We still have some time before you can show me your two left feet. While you were away, I heard we’ll be sitting through a speech from one of the founding Oasis Ministers.”

“And who might that be?” Angela said, rolling her eyes.

“Anya Al-Shahrani,” Fareeha said. “Minister of Geology.”

Angela saw who she assumed as Anya from the crowd, incredibly easy to make out from the similarly dressed Ministers by her side while a few students stood by patiently for her commentary on their notes.

The Ministers had finally crawled out from whatever den they were hiding in, perhaps occupying lavish rooms similar to Moira’s until the big ceremony was back on them. Angela tried to keep herself from staring, even if their lavish robes and the subtle glances Moira was offering over her shoulder would encourage otherwise.

None of the Ministers were in the prime of their youth but Anya was especially elderly. Lacking Ana’s physical capabilities, the woman was frail and graying, needing the support of a colleague to even push her wheelchair up to the stage. Ana had the occasional stiff joint and blurry vision though Anya seemed to be straining to keep herself presentable, small and meek in comparison to the others despite her position above them.

She made her way up to the stage, one student keeping the wheelchair moving while another adjusted the microphone to accommodate her height.

“Thank you all for coming,” Anya began, her face warm and wrinkled with miles of dark hair pinned back beneath her headset. “I may not be able to speak for everyone, but I am immensely honored to be in the company of so many kind and intelligent minds. Be it the presence of our students, teachers, or a select number of impressive organizations and business models-”

She stole a wink over to Akande who returned it with a sly grin from his seat. “I must say that our shared time together will stay with me for the few months I may have left.”

The statement had a few heads turning, people murmuring among themselves in worry. Anya gave a knowing look, raising up her hand to silence the chatter.

“No need to throw a fuss, everyone. We all knew this time was coming and I only have so much time until I pass and can offer my position to someone worth of leading our council in the right direction. Though I’d like to offer some very good news in the wake of this tragedy. After some debate, we will be establishing a Vishkar development within our city walls. To better expand our research and understanding of hard light technology, we will be recruiting employees and setting up classes for our students to understand the most cutting-edge equipment in years.”

The room broke into rampant applause. Fareeha furrowed her brow in what Angela couldn’t decide was worry or confusion.

“But don’t let me eat up too much of your time,” Anya said with a broad smile. “I believe a dance should be commencing soon. Thank you and I wish you all a pleasant rest of the evening.”

On cue, the band began playing a new song, slow but up tempo enough for the guests to begin circling the floor with their partners as Anya watched. Only a handful were willing to engage in such an intimate act with many at their tables, enjoying their meals or admiring the display with cameras in hand.

“After you?” Fareeha stepped forward, Angela’s arm firmly around hers.

“Only if you’re leading,”

Fareeha took Angela’s hand into her own, resting another against the small of their back. Angela tried not to get too flustered as Fareeha led her into a pleasant rhythm, taking small and delicate steps until they were going in circles, the rest of the room going out of focus as only the sound of the band and a rampant heartbeat that could be coming from either of them lulled them into a state of tranquility.

In this little bubble, it was almost easy to forget about the watching eyes of multiple news outlets, terrorists, and one single woman observing her from afar.

“I didn’t know you were such a good dancer.” Angela said.

“Neither did I,” Fareeha replied. “This is called waltzing, right?”

“Yes, it is. And you’re doing wonderful. Did Reinhardt teach you?”

“A few steps when I was little,” Fareeha said, performing an impressive turn that made Angela’s dress flutter briefly around her legs. “I was small enough to stand on his feet while he played some god-awful music and showed me his moves. That was one way to keep an eight-year-old entertained on a base camp.”

“Well, he was an excellent teacher,” Angela replied. “Only the best partners can make a klutz like me look graceful.”

“Oh, don’t be so down on yourself! I’ve seen you do the hustle and it is phenomenal.” Angela had to keep her laughter quiet as the song faded, the couples offering the band a round of applause.

“The Ministers will now take the floor,” Anya announced, making a vague motion for the seven Ministers by the stage to find a partner, each of them apparently waiting their turn while the lower lifeforms occupying the room had their fun. Some of them appeared to be married and gladly extended their hand out to someone who was already ogling them from afar.

The others simply won over a passing attendee without many words exchanged. The music began slowly, not quite working up enough momentum to go into a full sway.

Out of all the Ministers already paired up, only one was making her way down the dance floor, ignoring any of the women who poised themselves in hope to be picked. But of course, none of them would get such a luxury.

“May I?” Moira was before the two of them, holding out her hand and locking her gaze with Fareeha’s. Angela felt her heart jump into her throat, even if she knew fully well she could reject the offer at the risk of causing a scene. Fareeha, seeming to read the room and the eyes on her, was cordial as ever and passed Angela over to Moira’s grip-like passing a torch or spreading a disease.

“Much obliged,” Moira escorted Angela over to the little half circle the rest of the Ministers constructed, wrapping an arm around Angela’s waist and moving in time with the music.

After all these years, Moira was still incredibly tall. Angela wasn’t exactly tiny, though a woman she was ever this close to rarely ever stood less than a few inches above her. Fareeha was of impressive height already though Moira fully enveloped Angela during the dance, guiding her along to the music as if this were a practiced routine.

In fact, it was. And Angela knew each and every step of it.

“You seem tense,” Moira said quietly. “There are other Ministers dancing, you know. No one is staring at you.”

Angela didn’t reply as they transitioned into the second part of their little dance. She remembered every step just a little too well, like she was doing it all for the first time. She didn’t even stumble as Moira took her hand above her head to do a quick twirl, easing back into the embrace just as smoothly. Angela could hear a few people clapping and she had to fight the burn in her cheeks.

“Shh, you’re doing fine. You look wonderful.”

“Just be quiet,” Angela whispered harshly, angry that her own body was betraying her as muscle memory kicked in and made the exchange look far more romantic than she intended. Moira was wrong, people _were_ staring at them. Angela could feel the eyes on her, on them, cameras set to not trigger a flash as they saw the little act play out. Angela stared at her feet for the rest of the song, too embarrassed to return the intense look Moira was giving her.

She hoped to whatever God was listening that Fareeha wasn’t taking it out of context. Talk of Moira was something Angela strictly reserved for her innermost thoughts, sure to sully the casual and calm nature of their dialogue. Fareeha didn’t know about Moira because she never needed to. And as much as Angela hoped to keep it that way, the expression Moira wore exposed more than anything Angela could possibly say.

The song was mercifully short and faded to a close as the Ministers excused themselves to let the banquet continue as normal. Moira was the last to leave. Angela let out a quick sigh of relief, pushing back a strand of hair she noticed was clinging to her forehead.

“Thank you for the dance, Dr. Ziegler.”

“You as well,” Angela returned Moira’s bow, curtsying as elegantly as her wobbly legs would let her. They were done. Moira probably wouldn’t even bother Angela or anyone else for the rest of the night.

She had her talk, she had her dance, now she could finally leave and give Angela just a hint of a chance of forgetting about all of this. But before Angela could head back to her group, to the woman she should be standing next to and by the companions she still had a reason to trust, Moira rested a hand against her face.

“What? What is it?” Angela asked impatiently as Moira began to chuckle softly.

“So red in the face,” A thumb ran against her feverish skin. “You blushing in white never fails to remind me of our wedding day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so the build up should be coming to a close here. I apologize if the opening chapters of this were strictly dialogue though it's only necessary if I want the upcoming scenes to have any impact to the characters and relationships established here. If you're reading this, I appreciate the patience and promise that the E rating on this fic will make sense soon enough.


	7. Skuld

She could have just left. She should have bolted out the second Sombra insisted she come to that floor. Hell, the second she saw Widowmaker and Doomfist attending, that should had been its own red flag. Damn the cover, damn the guise of kindness, damn them all. Angela should have known better. She was an Overwatch veteran, the face of their medical branch and she was dumb enough to keep up appearances above her own safety. Stupid…

“Angela?”

She was so stupid. Who knows what could have happened if she wasn’t careful enough? As far as she knew, everyone barely escaped with their lives because Talon felt like playing a part that night. And if they didn’t, then what? Fight them, put everyone in danger and prove as to why Overwatch was shut down in the first place? Give everyone more reasons to deem them too violent and irrational?

“Angela?”

And Moira, she should have expected so much. Angela held her guard well enough, and still Moira managed to poke holes and nestle herself into the most sensitive parts of the flesh-like she always did. Moira lived to create things only to destroy them, be it people or relationships. Of course, the line between creation and destruction was an incredibly thin line for Dr. O’Deorain. That was something Angela learned far too late.

“Angela!” A strong hand stuck the table, shaking Angela out of her daze with a yelp.

“Oh my gosh! I-I’m so sorry.”

“You’ve been really out of it. Is something wrong?” It was Brigitte, her gaze fixed into a worried stare as she rubbed the doctors back.

“Uh, I didn’t sleep well last night. That’s all.”

“You said that yesterday and the day before that,” Hana added, rolling her eyes. “Being a little tired lasts a day or two, not a week.”

She took a sip of her soda, sliding an unopened can over to Angela across the table. “Drink this. It always gives me a pickup.”

“Thank you, Hana. But…” Angela furrowed her brow at the brightly colored neon greens and pink coating the can still cold and dripping condensation from the depths of the fridge. If it weren’t for Hana’s attractive portrait gracing the side, Angela could probably make out a million grams of sugar listed on the nutrition label. “I’ll pass. Too much soda is bad for you. The acids, and all that.”

“Maybe not the best remedy for our little health guru,” Brigitte took the can for herself, clicking it open to the chipper tune of a digitized voice. “What’s the saying? An apple a day, right?”

“I don’t think we have any fresh fruit besides bananas,” Hana said. “Winston really needs me to pitch in with the shopping next time.”

Brigitte laughed, “So we can have instant ramen and Nano Cola every day?”

Hana pouted. “I get the stuff for free, anyway! It be great for budgeting, and it’s delicious!”

Something about Hana and Brigitte’s conversation had Angela smiling again, albeit faintly. They had come up to the kitchen for a break in the warehouse, both of them still in welding gloves and painted with strips of oil, but stopped themselves when they saw Angela spending another afternoon moping over a cup of cold coffee. Though their advice had little barring on Angela’s sudden lethargic nature, it made her happy to know at least someone was trying to help. Fareeha wasn’t exactly available for a heart to heart, going cold and stony right after the banquet ended. Angela supposed she’d be a little timid as well after sitting through such a display by Moira.

Throwing in the fact that she wandered off to a private room to discuss things with an old romantic fling wouldn’t exactly have them doing small talk anytime soon. Angela contemplated bringing Ana into it-a woman of those years and experience was bound to have some wisdom to share-but she knew it would just make matters worse. Angela certainly didn’t have the solution herself and might just down a few cans of Nano Cola during a midnight binge. It was much healthier than the original idea she had in mind.

“Thank you for the suggestions, girls.” Angela assured. “But I think I’ll be fine, really.”

“Look, I know that the banquet was a little stressful,” Brigitte said. “It was a first for me and I could smell the bad blood from a mile away.”

“Yeah, I should have figured something was up when that blue lady showed up. Her name was Amélie, right?” Hana pried open a bag of chips, pouring as much as she could fit into her mouth. She downed the chewed chips with a swig of her drink. “She gave me the creeps.”

“So did that other guy,” Brigitte sneered. “I didn’t like the look of that chick with the mohawk either. I appreciate how polite you were, Angela, but that could had been dangerous”

“Since we’re official Overwatch agents now, will we be seeing them again?” Hana rubbed some chip dust coating her mouth onto her glove. The question was directed at Angela and she had to clear her throat before meekly replying, “Yes, I would like to assume. I’m not sure if anyone else has told you this, but those people you saw a few weeks ago are part of a group called Talon. They’re vaguely similar to Overwatch in that they recruit a number of people of varying skills to work for a common goal.”

“And I’m assuming that goal isn’t anything we’d like,” Brigitte furrowed her brow. “Don’t worry, I’ve dealt with crooks before.”

“If they try anything funny, I have my new and improved mech to show them what we’re made of.” Hana passed a confident grin to Brigitte who returned it with a thumbs up.

“Well I’d love to know what progress you’ve made,” Angela said. “I’ve never seen you take on such a large project, Brigitte. Well, besides Reinhardt’s armory.”

“Me and Hana are on the same page with the developments,” Brigitte said. “It’s a little more high tech than what I’m used to but what Tokki can do now will blow you away…literally.”

“Tokki?” Angela said.

Hana chuckled, “Yeah, I named my mech. It means 'rabbit'.”

“Oh, I see! How precious.”

“She’ll be more like a _jackrabbit_ once she’s all patched up.” Brigitte said, apparently expecting laughter and applause at her comment.

“You made that exact same joke in the warehouse!”

“Yeah, but Angela didn’t hear it yet.”

* * *

She can sense her coming a mile away. Down the hallway and through the doors was the sound of a shuffling coat and slacks, shoes with heavy bottoms striking the floor with proud but fast steps.

“May I come in?” Is the first thing Angela hears from the comfort of her office, minimizing a few windows on her holopad before turning around to see Dr. Moira O’Deorain standing in a half open doorway. Angela skewed her brow, the falling sun coming from her lab window already making the room appallingly bright. “I suppose,”

Moira took the invitation, strolling inside with what Angela noticed was something made out of layered papers tucked under her arm. “All alone?”

“My assistant is gone for the day,” Angela explained, looking back at her holopad. “I was just packing up before I left.”

“Well, I hope I’m not too late. I must talk to you today. I cannot stress how important this is.”

“An impatient one, aren’t you?” Angela didn’t look up from her pad, though she had lost interest in the article she was skimming over an hour ago. “Well, then what is it you’d like to discuss?”

“Your work,” Moira said simply. “I’ve caught wind of it and I wanted to offer my input.”

“Input?” Angela said, leaning back in her chair as she finally met Moira's gaze. And it was such an intense one at that, one red and one blue eye with thin eyelids that complemented the elegant slope of her long face. “I can’t say I’ve made much progress yet. I’d be surprised if you had anything to add this early in development.”

“Then that will just make it even easier for me to contribute,” She walked over to Angela’s desk and dropped the weighty file down on the table, protected by a manila envelope and an old fashion black stamp across the cover that read BIOTICS. Angela pried it open to see actual printer paper and everything, mostly typed with a few handwritten notes for good measure.

Assessments, old essays, some photos and hand drawn illustrations be it from what Angela assumed was by Moira's hand or ripped straight from a textbook. It was certainly cluttered though equally as informative. "I hope you'll appreciate some of my more recent observations. It's a mouthful, I know, but I understand that I have personal experience with your area of study."

“Moira,” Angela blinked, turning a page. “This is so thorough. I-I’ve never seen an assessment this dense. All this just from a few stray notes I had on a whiteboard?”

“I may have also come across your essay on alternative healing technology, but that can be our secret.” Moira said, and Angela swears she sees a cheeky wink at the end of that statement. “I know our primary studies might differ a bit, but deep down we’re both medics with the same resources to work with. And, for lack of a better word, you and I are resources to one another. It be unwise to not to at least see what results can come of this.”

“You’re suggesting a partnership?” Angela cocked her brow, turning over one of the printed papers to see a computer generated graph etched into the back. “I’m surprised. You have a bit of a reputation, O’Deorain.”

“All good talk, I hope.” 

“It tends to vary,” Angela chuckled. “Stubbornness to some, ‘difficult to work with’ for many. There words, not mine.”

Moira shook her head. “And I thought the scientific branch of Overwatch was beyond gossip. The interns, I’m assuming…”

“No, scientists like you and me. Not many interns you’ve had lived to tell the tale.”

Moira scoffed, her expression amused. “Nonsense, I just prefer to work alone. Collaboration isn’t my strongest suit, Dr. Ziegler. Many have struggled with understanding my methods.”

“And what makes you think I’d be any different?”

“Because I think we’re on the same page,” Moira placed her hands on the table, demanding Angela’s attention. She smelled heavily of cologne, her pale skin wafting off an aroma of an Irish spring, thick with pine and rain slicked forests. “I too have been seeking out new methods of healing and cell regeneration. We’re both equally experienced with biotics, we may as well see what our combined knowledge can do.”

“You have your own projects, I’m assuming.”

“Many,” Moira said. “Though there is one I’d be more than happy to tackle once your design-and it most definitely will be-is finalized. If I help you launch this successfully, I’d appreciate if you returned the favor.”

Angela tried to weigh her options then and there. She doubted she’d be able to get the project funded and up and running before her assigned deadline, and that was only if she got the mark of approval to do so. It was risky, full of holes she had yet to patch up and she’d have to iron down a lot of details if it meant getting a decent proposal together. Angela’s place in a budding but powerful organization like Overwatch was secure for the most part, but too many mistakes this early and she may as well head back to college. Overwatch wasn't just a small task force anymore but a global superpower with separate branches and divisions popping up all over the globe. Angela was just one fo many scientists lucky enough to be here during the starting phase.

Moira being added to that equation could go one or two ways. Either they worked together and things went smoothly, or Moira put a little too much of herself into the project that could cost them their jobs. Angela didn’t want to cast judgment on O’Deorain so early. They had barely spoken to one another despite being in the same branch, though that was mostly on behalf of Angela’s own lack of social skills and Moira's tendency to distance herself from the rest of the agents. O’Deorain was a newer recruit, flown in from Dublin with a PHD in human genetics under her belt, not anyone Angela should really be intimidated by, and yet placing her trust into the “woman with the rabbit’s pelt” wasn’t exactly something she wanted on her resume. But, it wasn’t like anyone else had offered their assistance, let alone produced what could be years of notes on the exact things Angela dreamed of making a reality.

“I suppose that would only be fair,” Angela said, admiring an illustration that caught her eye more carefully. “Your ideas, in these notes, they have a few details I felt were lacking in mine. I would had never thought to use this type of material, and this armor type-it’s durable, flexible-”

“It could work,” Moira’s smile was unashamedly prideful. “We have time and we have enough chances to see what sticks. I understand that offering such a weighty idea to our superiors can be nerve-racking, but I assure you that your idea can change the world of medicine as we know it."

Angela chuckled, “That might be a stretch, but I can’t deny that I’d hate to squander all the preparation you’ve poured into this. It be awfully rude to decline.”

“So, do we have a deal?” Moira held out her hand and Angela stared dumbly at it for a few seconds before extending her own and sealing the handshake.

“Yes, we have a deal.”

“Brilliant,” Moira reached inside of her lab coat, digging inside the spacious pocket to produce a small but broad flask. Two convenient shot glasses followed, placed atop Angela’s desk with swift enthusiasm. “This calls for a toast.”

“You were ready for this all along, weren’t you?” Angela said, watching as Moira filled up the shot glasses to the brim with brown whiskey before pocketing the flask again.

“I had a hypothesis and you proved it right.”

“That hypothesis being…?”

“That you would share a quick drink with me at precisely six p.m.,” Moira handed the shot glass over, her long nails that were way above the Overwatch dress code of conduct lightly brushing over Angela’s hand during the exchange. “Though even I know you aren’t one to turn down a quick high during work hours. I’d say not to mix drinks in one sitting, but I’m afraid I didn’t bring any vodka with me today.”

“Perhaps I can compensate next time,” Angela said, though she would usually be ashamed of her coworkers taking note of her less favorable hobbies. “Can’t have doctors getting sick, can we?”

Angela raised her glass up. “Would you like to do the honors, O’Deorain?”

“Gladly,” Moira cleared her throat. “Let us pledge to a successful breakthrough that makes our teacher’s teachers roll in their graves.”

“Hm, well spite is always an excellent motivator.” They tapped their glasses together and downed their shots. It was the perfect buzz for an otherwise dull evening and Angela was already warmed up for a chaser.

“Pity I have to head home soon,” Angela said. “It’s getting a bit late and I know the cleaners will need the floor.”

“Then perhaps someplace else,” Moira said. “I’m actually a bit famished. Mind coming with me downtown? There’s an excellent café you just have to see.”

“Dinner and drinks in one day,” Angela stood up from her desk, pulling her bag over her shoulder. “If I knew any better I’d say you were flirting with me.”

“Just a little overtime,” Moira said. “We talk over these notes you like so much and I buy you a steak. It would only be a date if it ended at my apartment.”

“Is that how you swoon all the ladies?”

“You’ve been the most successful.”

* * *

Whoever proposed counting sheep would immediately trigger a deep slumber must had been lying. Angela knew it was more of a phrase, fairy tale logic that when picked apart meant to lull one to bed out of sheer boredom from the task. She tried doing the same with the ceiling fan of her living quarters, watching the same five blades slowly turn above her head until she was in the three hundreds and yet she felt more awake than she did hours before. No matter how much she tried to distract herself, her mind kept racing. And much like the predictable rhythm of a fan, it always ended up going in the same tiresome loops over and over and over-

Throwing her covers aside, she walked over to her closet and dug around the bottom level, discreetly concealed by a few winter coats she never picked up. It was an inconspicuous hiding spot for the carton of cigarettes and lighter that laid beneath them. She gave the lighter a few experimental flicks with her thumb until a came alight.

“Just this once,” Angela hid both in her hand and made her way to the door. It was just a little past midnight with almost everyone, regardless if they were assigned a curfew or not, inside their dorms. Even if one or two people were still lingering around, she could always excuse herself to say she was getting some air. They would believe her. They didn’t know any better.

As she let the sensors register her exit, the doors slid open to a familiar sight. No warm tray of food this time around, just a hand hesitating to knock. “O-Oh, I was just…” Fareeha stammered, sticking her hand inside her jacket pocket. She was still in her training clothes, likely coming back from a late workout. “I promise, I literally just got here.”

“It’s fine, Fareeha.” Angela put the cigarettes and lighter on her desk, pushing it behind a lamp. “If you wouldn’t mind, do you think you can join me for a walk around base? I always like to get a little light exercise in before I go to bed.”

Fareeha only stared at her for a bit, her stare serious but concerned. That look alone was enough for Angela’s cheerful façade to slip, her forced smile giving in to its own weight. “Here to lecture me?”

“No, just talk,” Fareeha said. “I’m really sorry if it seems like I’ve been avoiding you. One thing came after the other and I guess I got distracted.”

“It’s okay if you’re upset with me,” Angela said. “The banquet wasn’t exactly my highest point either and please don’t think too much about that woman-”

“Angela, relax! Everyone was a little drunk, throw in some dancing and things get steamy. I know how it is.”

Fareeha’s eyes were so earnest and warm but it didn’t quite meet her pained smile. She was lying, lying the way someone who rarely avoided the truth did-just a little too sweet and apologetic for her own good. Angela decided to cut to the chase. “What was your first clue that something was wrong?”

Fareeha rubbed the back of her neck and let out a heavy sigh. “You just seemed a little shaken up and you’ve been staying up until three a.m. on some nights. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

In the darkness filling the room, Angela could only barely make out Fareeha’s form in the doorway. The lack of sleep was its own filter, throwing everything that wasn’t a cloudy, murky blackness out of focus. Angela silently prayed to the God her Catholic household would approve of that Fareeha couldn’t see her properly. That Fareeha couldn’t see her tired eyes and old nightgown, see the unkempt hair sticking to her neck with sweat.

“I…I’m fine,” Angela said. “Just a little stressed.”

“Not your usual stress,” Fareeha said tersely. “Angela, you know you can tell me if something’s bothering you. I wasn’t exactly all smiles at the banquet either and I’m sure it was even worse for you. What I mean is that you can tell me what’s bothering you...if whoever that woman was…”

She took a step closer as she said this, the door automatically shutting close. The hallway, Angela’s only avenue out of the suffocating presence of the room, was cut off. And yet, she didn’t consider it a complete loss. Much like before, if she was going to be a mess, she’d be one in front of Fareeha. Fareeha who never judged or batted an eye at a combat medic who could barely take care of themselves, nor to the Pharah in the field of battle whose only priority was protecting and a dedication to serve. Fareeha only saw the true impurities of the world, striking justice down on those who dared mar this disgusting planet with the blood of innocents. Angela may not be a threat, but certainly an insect by comparison to Fareeha’s careful watching eye-a dwindling piece of bacteria that was left in the wake of the worst wars.

“Sorry. I probably shouldn’t even bring her up, but I really do mean it. Angela, please…” Fareeha gripped Angela’s arms, clearly off put by her silence. “Talk to me. I-I’ll stay up all night with you if you want. I just want to-”

Fareeha became stiff as Angela’s lips pressed against her own. Angela had to crane up on her toes to reach, the woman’s height forcing her to pull Fareeha down to her level by the lapels. Angela was rarely ever one to act impulsively, but the weight of her worry seemed to diminish just slightly at the sensation of this one single moment.

A feeling she didn’t know she missed this dearly. She could have been making things worse, truly exposing her slimy insides to a woman who might have more authority than her someday, and yet the weight of the guilt that subsided into her subconscious was a far heavier burden.

Angela pulled away, releasing Fareeha’s shirt and standing back on ground level-lower to the dirt, where she belonged. “My apologies,”

Now Fareeha was the one to become silent, trying to adjust herself as Angela took a few steps back. Angela didn’t quite pan out what to do after this. Maybe slip back into bed as Fareeha leaves, convince herself that it never happened and pass it off as a dream to a likely bewildered Fareeha when the sun came up.

There’s no faults in that, Angela thought, peering up to see Fareeha taking quick strides towards her, closing what little distance they had. Before Angela could offer a rebuttal, Fareeha’s lips met her own, returning the kiss with equal intensity. Fareeha held Angela by the arms, pulling her flush against her chest.

Of course. This is what happens next.

They made their way to the bed and Fareeha was on top of her in an instant, her mouth still pressed hot against Angela’s as her tongue lapped between her teeth. Her hands only ever moved away from Angela’s body to undress herself, discarding her jacket with only her tank top remaining.

Her erect cock was finally free from the binds of her sweats, her underwear removed from both her and Angela’s combined efforts. Angela, nearly in a state of undress as it was, hitched up her nightgown to leave her pussy exposed. No panties to keep her wetness from staining anything but the sheets and Fareeha’s member, no bra keeping her breasts from hanging heavily against her chest.

Fareeha took in the view, caging Angela against the bed, cock twitching up to her toned stomach. “A-Angela, this doesn’t usually happen.”

“I wonder how many people have seen you like this,” The statement came out more flirtatious than she intended, though it was hard to keep her voice even with the throb of her pussy already imaging the amazing stretch it would take soon. She wrapped her arms around Fareeha’s neck and gave her another kiss, whispering against her lips, “Show me how you feel, how you feel about me.” Angela leaned back and spread her legs, exposing herself entirely to see Fareeha twitch again. “This is how you can make me feel better.”

Fareeha swallowed, taking her cock into her hand to slowly push herself inside, her body letting out a shudder as the wet heat of Angela’s cunt welcomed the head already leaking precome. It was so incredibly _easy_. No need for the lube that probably sat expired at the bottom of Angela’s nightstand next to a half empty box of birth control, just the simmering lust that’s been between them for months now. Angela’s desperation and Fareeha’s passionate wanting had them connected for however long the moment would allow and Angela intended for it to last long enough for the guilt to fade.

If it took all night, so be it.

Fareeha thrusted slowly, her moves methodical but shallow as she tried to find her rhythm. “Angela,” she said, her voice low. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, not at all.”

"I see,"

Fareeha pressed her lips against the juncture where neck met shoulder, steadying her grip around the mess of pillows and covers beneath them. She pushed herself forward, Angela letting out a deep whine as she was stretched and filled better than her fingers could ever provide. Fareeha’s thrusts became faster, more desperate.

Angela returned the motion, rocking her hips in time to meet the friction of Fareeha’s cock inside of her. The walls of the quarters were anything but sound proof, and Angela could only hope no one was near. The noises she was making were downright lewd-loud moans and whimpers that shook through her, the continuous wet slapping of Fareeha’s cock meeting her pussy.

“Fareeha,” Angela said, fingers gripping at the nape of Fareeha’s neck. “Don’t stop. Please, please don’t stop-”

Fareeha nodded, her hold on the sheets becoming tighter as she gave a few more feverish thrusts, granting them both the orgasm they desperately needed. As Angela craned her back, eyes wedging shut as one last moan escaped her throat, Fareeha jerked forward, back growing stiff as she pressed against Angela’s chest, come filling a waiting hole. It was a quick fix though the boiling pot of their past interactions only foretold this happening at some point. They could only pretend for so long.

It took a few seconds for them to collect themselves. Fareeha was the first to react, pulling herself out of Angela and sitting on the edge of the bed in silence. Angela only stared at the welcoming darkness that made up her quarter’s featureless ceiling-remembering the taste of the skin and hair that was just under her nose. Fareeha’s come was still so hot inside of her and Angela could hear its slickness as she shuffled her legs into a sitting position on the bed.

Fareeha looked down at her soft and leaking cock, embarrassment painting her features red.

“Oh man…” She said, holding her head in her hands. “Fuck, I’m so dead. Fuck, fuck…”

“Fareeha, no. No, you’re fine. We’re both fine.” Angela said, more to herself than Fareeha. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Fareeha still wasn’t looking up from her hands, her voice muffled. “I just can’t risk this, Angela. I can’t handle this. I shouldn’t even be here and I still dragged myself to your room because I wanted to…I don’t know? Flirt with you? Talk to you again? I don’t speak to you for weeks and I act like it’ll come back to me just like that. Fuck, what is wrong with me?”

“Nothing, nothing is wrong with you! If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me.”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Fareeha grabbed her jacket off the floor, pulling it back on. Her panties were a last priority, shoved beneath her arm as she collected the rest of her clothing until she was decent. “I have to go. Goodnight, Angela.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect to see some changes of perspective after this chapter. And yes, the moment towards the middle was a flashback. You'll be seeing more of them soon.


	8. Coca

“Geez, you roll up to base again after all this time and you don’t even bother to say ‘hi’.”

“A good afternoon to you too, Sombra. You’re looking well.”

“Meh, I’ve been better.” Sombra did a half skip into the room, the soft padding of her leggings making her footsteps quiet against the hard floor of the immense lab.

She wasn’t fully in uniform at the moment, this being one of her few off days, but the tights were awfully cozy to mull around in whether she be spying on a country from her desktop or taking a nap.

She had looked forward to spending the day with Widow rather than the chilly corners of Moira’s private lab. It was one grain filter away from being in a horror movie-especially with how Moira was fiddling with the light dimmer and the mysterious tarp that laid over something in the center of the room that Sombra had to tip toe around-but the sniper was nowhere to be seen or answering any of her personal devices.

It was awfully rare for Sombra to even be remotely close to Moira’s lab. Not for lack of trying as Sombra could key into half of the base’s security cameras if she blinks her left eye a certain way, though actually stepping foot here was a marvel on its own.

Dr. O’Deorain was of high enough status within Talon to merit her own full-fledged laboratory, putting her a step above the other scientists who had to bump elbows with each other if it meant getting work done.

Not an issue for Moira who had a large and spacious area to her convenience, always buzzing with life be it from the chittering of animals in cages or the bubbling of a new batch of biotic fluids going from beaker to flask to oversized glass casings that lined the walls. Despite how active the scenery was, Sombra couldn’t help but feel like time stood still in here.

Whether or not Moira was in her little personal bubble, her presence still lingered here. It was an energy that only she could possibly create and like a bad smell it was only worse when she was actively present, fully engrossed in whatever was holding her attention. What was worthy of Moira’s analytical eye tended to vary and Sombra was only lucky she wasn’t one of those things.

Sombra respected Moira, even admired her as a colleague, but she’d be lying if she said the woman wasn’t a tough nut to crack. Akande had his charisma, Widow had her silent companionship, and Gabe had his utter lack of a sense of humor to keep Sombra entertained, but Moira was a mystery no matter how much information Sombra could dig up.

A cunning genius should naturally connect with another cunning genius and yet there was an unmistakable yet calculated malice that hung heavily over Moira’s actions. Even if the good doctor spent most of her time off in the lavish Oasis, her presence still lingered and composed some of the main building blocks of Talon’s defenses.

And on the days she came to Talon, she came to work, and it was often the kind of work that let you be a council member of a terrorist organization in the first place. It was mostly due to this title that had Sombra become something of an errand girl to Moira lately-grabbing Dr. Ziegler during the banquet, slipping out just in time to give Sanjay Korpel a mysterious package she was either too drunk or not drunk enough to try opening herself.

“I apologize for my absence,” Moira said, finally setting the light in the room to just a notch above its lowest setting. “I admit I’ve been more occupied lately in Oasis, what with the Vishkar development underway, not much time to drop by and talk with old friends.”

“Aww, we’re friends now?” Sombra placed a hand to her chest in mock gratitude.

“I can’t say I have many,” Moira walked away from the light switch. “There, that should do it. I wouldn’t want to wake her up too early.”

“Wake up who?”

Moira answered her question immediately, gripping the tarp and yanking it off to reveal who was taking a day nap. Widow was dwindling in a massive tube in the middle of the floor just big enough to accommodate her in her unconscious form.

Her hair hung loose and floating out her ponytail, the stark color of her locks and skin contrasting against the lightly bubbling yellow fluid. She was stripped naked with only a few stray electrodes attached to her skin and an oxygen mask covering her mouth and nose. Sombra let out an involuntary yelp as Moira folded and tucked the tarp away as if she were just prepping a bed.

“Was she injured?” Sombra asked, recognizing it as the yellow biotics Moira used to heal on missions.

“No, she’s fine. Physically, at least.” Moira said. “Lacroix was just in need of some…reeducation. Her most recent training session showed some mixed results, so I had to put her in suspension before her condition worsened.”

“What happened?”

“She missed,” Moira said simply.

Sombra quirked her brow. “She missed? Look, it’s real cute how you care so much about her target practice, but she’s bound to slip up sometimes.”

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear about that,” Moira said, seeming mildly offended from Sombra’s indifference. “Ms. Lacroix, or Widowmaker as we better know her as, is the perfect sniper. Cold, unfeeling, and genetically dead physically and emotionally. There is not a single soldier with her array of skills nor her biological superiorities.”

“So, she’s good sniper. I already knew that,” Sombra said. “But why the biotics bath?”

“If you’ve been doing your homework, you’d know that the substance that both me and Dr. Ziegler use come with a certain euphoric effect. Exposure to it for long enough can’t do anything drastic to the psyche on its own, though it can quell signs of stress and discomfort to better aid in the aspects it was made for. This will keep her sedated long enough to transfer the data over.”

“Oh, brainwashing. Got ya,” Sombra said. “You think you gotta strap her to the operation table again?”

“No, it’s much easier than you’d think,” Moira said. “I submerge her in the illusion of happiness while her brain is being force fed the same information from her first session, and she’ll be back to normal. Her physical modifications are still active-no increase of heartbeat or temperature changes-but the state her mind is in is something we can only really do once until she goes entirely sterile.”

Sombra grimaced, eager to change the topic. “Guess her being a vegetable is better than her being disobedient. Look, I don’t dabble into this science crap, I just wanna know where I’m dropping this off.”

Sombra opened her hand, a rubik’s cube made of purple pixelated light hovering above her palm. Her signature sugar skull emblem made apparent with the right pieces in places branded it as her own creation.

“My, what a charming design,” Moira placed a hand to her chin. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t disappoint me, Sombra.”

Sombra tossed the cube from one hand to the other, mostly showing off the springing effect she carefully calculated into the program. “ _No te preocupes_. Can’t say I’ve made one of these bad boys in a while, kinda takes me back.”

“I know you’re a very talented hacker, though I was worried devising a virus would be beyond your expertise. Thank you for proving me wrong.”

“I’ll make a habit of it.” Sombra was just a bit rusty with making fresh viruses as opposed to just leaving temporary glitches, though the mechanics were all the same.

Once she passed the file to Dr. Ziegler during their invasion on Utopaea, the file would be off her and hands and sticking to the synthetic wings of Overwatch’s top medic. It was only possible to be deleted via Sombra’s own personal password, a word only she knew and hoped to keep that way.

Ziegler would be better off trashing the suit and getting a new one, but the virus would be just enough of an obstacle for the plan to commence without any hiccups.

Moira opened a door a little off from the main lab, gesturing for Sombra to follow her. “Come with me. I need to show you something.”

* * *

Moira’s private room was more akin to an actual office, a place for filing and busywork as oppose to the messier parts of her job.

Wouldn’t want to get any strange substances on important files, Sombra figured as she observed an otherwise featureless box adorned with awards and notes pinned up on bulletin boards. It was bare in comparison to the activity of the lab, though any place without a dozen rabbits and an unconscious woman being re-brainwashed would fall short of interior flair.

“I wanted to show you a serum I’m working on,” Moira said. “It’s not much different than the biotics you've already seen, though they do have some minor modifications.”

Moira clicked away at the keypad of the miniature freezer near her desk and it opened to display two rows filled to the brim with glass vials, healing on top and damage on the bottom, with each one specifically labeled to the finest details.

“Healing biotics can only do so much on their own,” Moira explained, reaching inside to grab one of the healing vials. “Minor injuries can be handled when tended to in time while anything serious will almost always require going under the knife. My gas is only capable of warding off infections and repairing damaged skin. I can stop bleeding but if, as an example, your ankle is shattered, I can only numb the physical pain until proper aid is available.”

“Mm,” Sombra said. “So is your gal pal the same way?”

“Our biotics are similar as far as technical properties go. What you’re seeing now is a healing substance in its natural state,” Moira explained. “It’s more or a less a durable liquid that can be easily transferred into something else with the right technology behind it. It would take a microscope to see the changes I’ve made to this particular sample.”

“How about the purple goop?”

“A virus, something you and I are both familiar with,” Moira smiled, clearly satisfied with her results as she took out a purple test tube. “I’m sure this is familiar. A small dosage of it will be going into Lacroix’s rifle. I can assume you know what happens from there.”

“Nothing pretty, I guess.”

“Well, I believe the rapid decaying of cells can have its own morbid beauty. The finer details will remain a secret for now.”

She pushed the vials back into place and shut the freezer closed. “A pinch of one, a pinch of the other. Then I’ll have my results.”

“Oh, good thing you brought me in here to show off your lemon and grape juice collection,” Sombra said. “I guess Widow couldn’t offer any stellar commentary.”

“Nonsense, I wanted to converse in here in case her session ended ahead of time.”

“She looked sound asleep to me.” Sombra leaned against a nearby wall as Moira sat down at her desk that was littered with files. Sombra could only vaguely make out the text, though they seemed to be hard copies of Widow’s vitals.

“It pains me to say it,” Moira began, looking over a document. “Amélie is slipping out of the build I made for her. I’ve been noticing it-the moments of hesitation, the empty stares during missions, Amélie is waking up again and I don’t know how long I can repeat the process until she’s ‘a vegetable’ as you put it.”

“What happens if she stops being Widow?”

“Then I suppose we’ll have to put her out of commission indefinitely.”

Moira looked up just briefly enough to see Sombra’s expression change and was quick to follow up with, “But the procedure I’m putting her through now should last some time. She’ll be fine.”

“Oh, alright…” Sombra cleared her throat, hoping the worry painting her features wasn’t too obvious. She thought about Widow again who was peacefully being lulled into a state of cold, dead apathy just a door behind them, unaware of how much Moira was numbing her and how many more times it may happen again. It was like reassembling a rifle, polishing a trophy, rebooting a system.

“Talon is becoming quite the well-tuned machine,” Moira said. “If we let ourselves slip too early, Overwatch will take any chance it can to cripple us. These are mistakes we can’t afford, so we must progress faster than they can catch up. Luckily for us, that is my specialty.”

“Happy to have you around then,” Sombra forced a smile.

“Widowmaker will be a necessity for what is to come. It's a small probability, but I can't execute the next few steps of my plan without her compliance,”

She pushed a single document aside, apparently sorting them into two separate piles. One was clearly labeled with Widow's changing biological state and the others being swiftly separated from it varied between large pages full of Korean with English translations stapled on the front and photographs of young adults flashing peace signs.

Magazine clippings, newspapers, some blurry JPEGS from fansites. Perhaps Moira wanted to lighten Sombra's workload by handling the cyber stalking herself. “I’ll need a single steady shot before her location is found out. Widowmaker can do that flawlessly, Amélie cannot.”

Sombra chewed her bottom lip, thinking over her next question carefully. “Hey, Moira?”

“Yes?”

“Amélie was never a sniper until you got your hands on her, right? Did you really accomplish all that just with brainwashing?”

Moira looked amused, finally pulling her attention away from her paperwork.

“You’d be surprised by what a little reprogramming can do, Sombra. With the right tools and the right conditioning, you can accelerate one’s ability to master skills in just a few days that would take most years to accomplish. Of course, there is that barrier of the average brain capacity, but get rid of enough of the…unimportant details and we can make room.”

Sombra nodded, the words sinking in. “Oh,”

“The psyche can only handle so much until it breaks and reforms around the thoughts and ideas being fed to it. Amélie may not have believed herself to be a capable killer while Widowmaker defines herself by it. But that still comes with its own shortcomings,” Moira said. “In some ways, Widowmaker is a façade. She’s a mask, a costume that Amélie can never take off. Even if the assimilation was a success, there’s always that hint of weakness lying there, waiting to come out. I didn’t kill Amélie, I just caged her. She can either accept it or suffer in silence.”

"Harsh,"

"Harsh?"

"Look, you gotta do what you gotta do," Sombra said. "Just letting you know that I've seen a lot of movies and the whole brainwashing thing can have setbacks. I'll give you credit for trying though."

"I'm afraid I don't have the means to do it thoroughly, but Talon and I have worked together to use a combination of lethal force and mental reconditioning to get our results. Our brain is like any other muscle and it has its limits."

“And what about Gabe-uh, Reaper?”

“Reyes became who he is now on his own accord, budding aggression and malice can change a man better than I ever could. I only gave him the tools to act on it,” Moira said. “It does intrigue me, how one’s own will can push us to change and grow. A friend of mine once said that spite can be the best motivator.”

“Another friend? Aren’t you the butterfly.”

“Never heard that one before,”

Sombra’s eyes traveled back down to the files on Moira’s desk that was unlike the others. Now sorted into levels of relevance, Widow's documents were in a small stack where in the collection of photographs and Korean texts held a novel's worth of information. Only one name she could clearly make out from all of it, the words HANA SONG in bold letters in Moira's own handwriting, attached to a massive headshot of the girl's young and attractive portrait. 

Hana Song was practically a worldwide phenomena but new enough to the Overwatch database that Sombra didn’t have the time to do much research on beyond spamming the worst emojis she could find in streams.

As to why a self-proclaimed braniac like Moira would be worried about a cutesy gamer girl was beyond Sombra's understanding but she rather wait and see what mess the scientist had in mind. Hana wasn't someone Sombra would have to worry about unless someone else said so. She already had her hands full with Dr. Ziegler.

“Make no mistake, both of you will be important parts of this project,” Moira said. “This is only stage one, but we can’t finish if we don’t get to work immediately.”

“I take it we’re on a time constraint?”

“A flexible one, though our invasion of Utopaea must be planned carefully. If we’re lucky, one event will lead to the other and Overwatch will fall into line like the sheep they are. It would be in their best interest to inspect a mysterious explosion in Vishkar, wouldn’t it?”


	9. Saraswati

“Miss Vaswani, Ogundimu is here.” Sanjay Korpel entering the office shook Satya out of her post work daze, her hour or so spent anayzing a graph being thrown out of focus.

“Already?” Satya pushed her chair out from her desk, flattening out the creases in her uniform. She glanced down at the clock on her computer screen, scrunching her brow. “He’s two minutes ahead of time. I could have been late.”

Sanjay stepped aside, letting Satya step through the door and down the hallway. She was walking just a little too quickly for him to keep up, already checking her hair for loose strands without the aid of a mirror.

“I’m certain he’s just as excited to meet you,” Sanjay said, walking into the closest elevator and queuing it for the first floor. “Not to worry you, but I may have showed him your portfolio. Only the parts with your approval, of course.”

“I suppose we could always use his company’s services to expand on other projects,” Satya said. “But, one step at a time. For today, the implant.”

“Certainly,” They were on the first floor soon enough, a section of Vishkar specifically for one on one meetings. Only mostly completed projects and ideas with a 99.999% of success was ever brought to this floor, mostly in the interest of stock holders who were wise enough to invest their well-earned money into such a promising company. The Ogundimu Prosthetics Cooperation was no different than the handful who wised up to the opportunity, though Ogundimu was a first when it came to getting their hands on their more recent idea.

Mechanical replacements was nothing new in this day and age, though replacing a limb was far easier to pitch than dedicating a significant portion of brain tissue to a surgical implant meant to monitor and fix negative patterns. Replacing a missing arm or leg, that was pretty much a necessity, but a mind-altering device was a risky investment to everyone involved. Satya wasn’t surprised that it was so hard to gather sponsors, but she had to admit she was disappointed by their hesitation.

Of course, the esteemed CEO of a company that specialized in prosthetics would be wise to put their money where their mouth is. The man himself was sitting in one of the three white couches of the room, standing up just in time to greet Satya and Sanjay as they entered. In such formal wear, Satya felt pathetically under dressed. Mr. Akande Ogundimu was just as tall in person with an impressive physique hidden beneath a proper suit and tie. 

“A pleasure to meet you in person,” Akande shook Satya’s hand, his grip as massive and intimidating as the rest of him. His voice was mostly bass, highlighted by a Nigerian accent, and yet his speech was incredibly formal and direct. “I’ve heard many good things about your work here, Miss Vaswani.”

“You as well,” Satya said, trying to offer her most professional smile. “Sanjay will you be-?”

“H-Hold on a sec,” Sanjay was consulting his earpiece, talking just barely above a murmur to whoever was on the other line. He nodded a few times, taking a finger away from his ear before clearing his throat. “I’m afraid my services are needed else ware. Miss Vaswani, you can handle the conference on your own, right?”

Satya nodded. “I don’t see why not. Carry on.”

Sanjay turned on his heel, offering a casual wave as he left. “Some maintenance problems in the East Wing is all. It will only be a second.”

He was out of the room as quickly as he came, leaving Satya and Akande to themselves.

“He seemed to be in a hurry,” Akande said with a smirk. “Anything occupying him lately?”

“None that I’m aware of,”

Satya walked towards the small coffee table in the middle of the room and placed her robotic hand against the surface. It scanned her fingerprints and immediately triggered the built in display feature programmed into an otherwise featureless piece of furniture.

What hovered before them in full color was the official NeuroVish Brain Implant (patent pending). Some last minute repairs had finished making small configurations, smoothing out the metal to something painless and paper thin and, above all, a stainless silver that could bend easily around the brain without losing its original shape.

Satya would rarely ever see the implant once it was surgically implanted, but knowing such a slick and simple design would be making its way under the skin of multiple patrons gave her existence a sense of tranquility and symmetry she didn’t have before. A little piece of Vishkar making a massive impact on suburbs and cities to the entire infrastructure of human psychology.

“It’s much smaller than I thought it would be,” Akande said.

“Well we wouldn’t want to risk the chance of discomfort,” Satya said. “It’s also no more than a few ounces, you’d have to pull a muscle to ever consider it a burden.”

“An under the skin implant…I like it. Is there any particular part of the brain you’ll be focusing on?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Satya said, motioning for the table to make a hologram of a brain made out of blue and white pixels and lines. “We deduced that the cerebrum is where most of the brain activity is processed, but upon closer inspection, the NeuroVish would perform its duties properly within the frontal lobe. It’s here that we deduce planning and problem solving.”

“And an implant such as this…”

“Would override negative problem-solving impulses,” Satya smirked, pleased that Akande was on the same page as her. “The frontal lobe has a large impact on our current state and we can always form the nastiest habits without noticing. It won’t alter the personality entirely, but it can diminish our more unfavorable traits.”

Akande placed a hand to his broad chin. “How would you rate the level of self-awareness?”

“Pardon?” 

“Those who receive the implant will be fully consenting to the device,” Akande explained. “Will their actions be impacted under the impression they know the device is modifying certain parts of their daily routine?”

Satya clapped her hands together, a shiver of excitement running up her spine at the inquiry. “You’ll be pleased to know that the NeuroVish is practically nonexistent to the user once inserted. It may take a day or two, but if it is to work properly, users will eventually forget the implant is there and their actions will feel natural.”

“As if it were of their own free will,”

“Precisely,” Satya scrolled past the brain diagram with her fingers until landing on a test subject’s private file. “One of the subjects we observed with the prototype received the implant to stop their impulse to drink. On day one they had a twenty percent decrease to their usual alcohol intake and a fifty percent decrease to their thoughts surrounding it. Come day fifteen and the liquor in their kitchen was disposed of as if it were part of their routine.”

“Any further alcohol purchases afterwards?”

“Not a dime,”

Akande chuckled, resting a hand on Satya’s shoulder. “I was already impressed, but now I’m absolutely certain your work will become revolutionary. You should be proud of yourself.”

“As if I already wasn’t,” The NeuroVish was a work in progress for about half of the year now, Satya’s position as one of the more valuable Vishkar employees granting her access to multiple branches of the company for collaboration. The architects more well-versed in brain chemistry and prosthetics had a hand in development, but at the end of the day, it was Satya’s vision that was coming to life.

Garnering the attention of Oasis and the Ogundimu Foundation was more cause and effect, nothing she planned but would certainly accept the extensive funding and support from. Especially since it helped seal Vishkar’s chances of having a presence in the most advanced city in the world.

Hard light classes, integrating their tech into the student’s lives, and Satya’s invention the backbone behind it all. They could move the NeuroVish out to troubled parts of the world, eliminate addiction and crime in double the time legal reinforcements ever could. A perfect world-finally realized.

“We as humans can only do so much to fight against our more negative traits,” Satya said, taking a seat in one of the chairs. “Practice may make perfect, but one bad day can have us spiraling back into our worst routines. Once that impulse is eliminated, who knows what we can accomplish as a species.”

“Such a bold vision,” Akande said. “Vishkar has been on my radar for some time but I wasn’t quite aware of the scope of your accomplishments until now. My apologies.”

Satya chuckled, “There’s no need. Though I admit that even I was growing the slightest bit impatient.”

“Well we certainly wouldn’t want that,” Akande sat down across from her, his eyes transfixed on the hologram. “I know neither of us specialize in brain surgery, but I imagine we can seek out hospitals that would be incredibly interested in this. Perhaps therapeutic institutions, places of education come to mind.”

“I think you’ll find that it’ll be incredibly mailable to a variety of environments and mass production is a top priority. There is a certain science to the way our brains work,” Satya said. “It’s true, I don’t specialize in that department, though with enough research and funding, anything is possible.”

“I believe we can accomplish great things together,” Akande said. “My associates are already in good terms with a few nearby health clinics. We’ll have trained professionals buying the NeuroVish by the boatload before the end of the year. I imagine your cut of the check will be especially attractive.” He threw in the last part with a cheeky grin.

Satya shook her head. “Yes, this will be a financial success, but it’s the broader scope that interests me. The changes it will make to society, it’s a step towards something far greater.”

”Certainly,”

“It was an honor to have such an esteemed prosthetics company to our advantage,” Satya smiled. “I don’t believe the production could have been nearly as profitable without your input Mr. Ogundimu.”

“Please, call me Akande.” He insisted, leaning back in the chair with a winning smile. “But it’s not just finances I came to discuss today. I may have some business advice that could take the NeuroVish to the next level.”

Satya quirked her brow, pleased but also the slightest bit nervous if Akande already had any last-minute criticism.

“Oh,” She cleared her throat, crossing her legs as she contemplated taking notes. “What did you have in mind?”

“I understand we live in a sensitive time regarding this, but as much as we try to fight it, omincs have the right idea when it comes to their resources. Their technology, the way they function, nearly every little part of them can be replaced, improved, and, above all, given an archive. What your device lacks is a way for thoughts and skills to be stored and organized. Technology related to the mind has never made it passed the drawing board due to a lack of insight on this one crucial element.”

“So…a cloud system?”

“Not just a simple cloud,” Akande explained. “A library. An entire collection of new information to not just dispose of undesirable habits, but to replace them with favorable substitutes. Take your ex-alcoholic for example: replace his urge to drink with the need to pursue a better career path. Not only will he have one less hurdle, but an array of opportunities to focus on with that one single distraction disposed of.”

Satya pondered for a moment, wondering if it was too late to take up Akande’s idea. As brilliant as it was, devising a digital library of that much vital information would require its own network and a full team of programmers for the job. Someone to monitor storage and figure out what kind of service could possibly host something so massive. There was no way they could have something like that up and running with no interfering bugs before the NeuroVish launch.

How careless, how she could have glanced over such a crucial piece of information in the wake of excitement…but Satya knew that the NeuroVish couldn’t be anything short of perfect. This could be a truly revolutionary piece of tech, the thing that officially put Vishkar on the map not just as a hard-light company, but the builders of an improved society. And she wouldn’t let time and hesitation cripple her this late.

“Your suggestion is something I never considered,” Satya said. “And I’m often the one double checking for the finer details. But I must ask, how do you propose we compose a project of that size on borrowed time?”

Akande smiled. “Leave that to me. I just so happen to have connections to an incredibly talented tech guru that’s just a phone call away. She’ll be handling the details in no time.”

Satya couldn’t hide the fact she was beaming, springing up from her seat. “Really? You do?”

“My father always told me you can’t put all your eggs in one basket unless you’ve already secured the chicken,” Akande said, chuckling softly. “It’s just a touch more poetic in my native tongue, but I assure you I was thinking well ahead once we formed this partnership.”

“Oh thank you, thank you!” Satya rushed over to give Akande a firm but eager handshake, her glee bordering on childlike. “Mr. Ogu-uh, Akande, I never knew we could be so lucky to have you!”

“Not luck,” Akande said. “Just chance.”

“Well then the hand of fate has been awfully kind to both of…” Satya then became erect, releasing her grip from Akande’s as she observed the room.

“Anything the matter, ma’am?”

Satya squinted, adjusting her visor as she walked towards the broad window overlooking the rest of the massive cooperation, the one predominately dedicated to the East Wing in full view. She could only magnify her vision so much, the visor more so for finding near microscopic miscalculations in her creations rather than detecting what she suspected was a disturbance a little away from them. Luckily for her, the explosion that consumed the building would be hard for anyone to not notice.

* * *

Angela had once overhead a term by her younger colleagues titled “The Walk of Shame”. From what she knew, it was normally the less attractive aftermath of a heated sexual encounter. The point of the matter was that a Walk of Shame constituted of three elements she was hoping to drown with two bathroom breaks worth of black coffee: embarrassment, regret, and the lingering temptation of doing it all again.

She was far past the point of stumbling out of her quarters with mused hair and sweaty thighs, a few days passed that to be exact, but the whole “shame” part hadn’t quite subsided. Fareeha clearly had it worse, trying her little heart out to keep the connection between them casual and carefree even if she knew the post banquet silent treatment would have gladly come to use here.

Fareeha and her were still talking and training together, but it was the kind of talks that felt incredibly forced. Something both of them knew but didn’t have the guts to admit out loud was the tension between had finally come to its end. This was no kiss on the cheek or a coy brush of the hand, this was intimacy at its most irrational and they had to revel in it until the smell was gone.

If anything, Angela felt she was the blame. She was the one who had to accept the invitation to dance, she was the one keeping everyone on her tail when they noticed she wasn’t sleeping anymore. It could have all been avoided from the start and now dragging Fareeha into her mess only prolonged the chance of any resolution.

“Sorry I’m late,” Angela entered the doors of the conference room, a folder of documents haphazardly paper clipped together under her arm. “I must have overslept.”

“Not a problem, Dr. Ziegler.” Winston said, too polite to ever vocalize is actual frustration to Angela’s recurring tardiness. “We were actually just getting started.”

“Wonderful,” Angela made her way towards the table, seeing that each of the seats were taken by the other vets and rookies Brigitte and Hana who offered a supportive wave. The only open seat was next to…oh no.

Ana offered her slyest grin, as if the overhead lights inside the room weren’t already hard enough to look at. Angela suppressed a groan and took her place next to Fareeha. “Good morning, Doctor.”

“Morning,”

“Now that we’re all here,” Winston said-bless him for putting an end to anymore small talk-ringing up the projection Athena already had prepared. “We can properly begin. I’m sure you all know that the Recall has caused a bit of uproar around the world, but I’m pleased to inform that things just might be going our way in terms of legal troubles. It may take some time, but my plan is to gather up…”

Angela felt herself start to daze off again. She was sure Winston poured a lot of time and information into his presentation, as he always did, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care about who was doing what. Any lawyer willing to cover the case of two supposedly dead soldiers wouldn’t have an easy job on their hands and Angela would either have to worry about being called a witness or sit in the background waiting for the punishments to roll out.

Brigitte could be right, things could change for the better, but the young lady was more of a child among men. She was naïve, glory bound, painfully oblivious no matter how many things Reinhardt may have told her. Angela wouldn’t break the kid’s spirit, but the reality of Overwatch staying afloat was still a rocky one. She would probably be fine, but where would that leave Ana? Jack? Would Hana have to crawl back to Busan and would Brigitte return to her Iron Guild duties for run of the mill projects? And Fareeha…

She stole a glance over, Fareeha’s expression entirely fixed on the screen. Her discipline was astounding, even outshining Jack who was a victim of poor posture and fatigue on account of age and a more ruthless demeanor. Even Angela could barely bring herself to play the part and she started to feel herself slump in her chair. She would have probably fallen asleep around the time Winston was wrapping up if she didn’t feel a warm hand touching her thigh.

She tried not to shriek, only slowly looking down to see it was Fareeha who was trying to get her attention. Angela was about ready to brush it off as an accident until Fareeha’s hand moved up, teasing the hem of her skirt. Her fingers slid beneath the fabric soon enough, feeling along Angela’s panty line that she was embarrassed to say was containing her rampant arousal.

_Fareeha Amari, what the hell are you doing? …Please, don’t stop._

Angela lifted up her skirt just a little more, exposing her bare thighs and legs to the air-conditioned room and the contrasting heat of Fareeha’s exploring hand. Fareeha soon found her way to the inside of Angela’s underwear, digits running down blonde pubic hair until finding an aching clit. Angela moaned low in her throat, trying to pass it off as a small yawn. Beneath the table and with all eyes on Athena’s projection, it was surprisingly easy for no one to notice. Fareeha’s straight face didn’t even budge as she began to tease Angela’s clit, probably fantasizing about rubbing the head of her cock up against it. Or perhaps that was just Angela who now had to hide her moan into the palm of her hand just at the thought.

“The restroom…” Fareeha said sharply, her voice quiet enough just for Angela to hear.

“Hm?”

“The women’s restroom,” Fareeha said. “When Winston’s done.”

She affirmed this statement by slipping a single finger into Angela’s cunt, just running the pad of her index around enough to feel the wetness collecting there.

The words “you’re excused” couldn’t come fast enough. Angela tried to make herself decent, pulling down her skirt as she followed Fareeha to the restrooms just a few steps down the hallway. While everyone else was catering to other business on the floor or heading back down to their quarters, the two of them could easily slip inside with none the wiser.

It was luckily empty when they came inside, the two of them wasting no time to secure a stall. Fareeha was the first to initiate the kiss this time, pressing Angela’s back against the stall’s wall with hands holding the doctor’s hips in place. Angela wrapped her arms around Fareeha’s neck, pulling herself deeper into the kiss as her hips ground against the erection forming in Fareeha’s jeans. Angela took it upon herself to undo Fareeha’s belt and zipper, shimmying out of her own underwear that were thoroughly ruined before hitting the floor.

Fareeha was as strong as she looked, using only her upper arm strength to hoist Angela up and hold them against the stall’s cramped space, perfect positioning for her twitching cock to penetrate Angela’s pussy. No words were exchanged, only a loud moan as Angela felt Fareeha enter her again and be sent into pure bliss. “Mmm ahh…”

Fareeha mumbled something, likely in Arabic, as she let Angela wrap her legs around her waist, arms on either side of Angela’s head as she began to thrust deeply. “ _Mein Gott, ich bin so voll_. _Scheiße_ , Fareeha _scheiße!_ ”

Fareeha hushed her with a kiss and Angela couldn’t help but blush and grin given the profanities she was spewing out. Fareeha was just as aggressive as all those days before, using the juices of Angela’s cunt to penetrate herself deeper and deeper on each thrust. She was moving quickly, wanting to get it over with as soon as possible.

“I-I’m almost there,” Fareeha said, her thrusts beginning to gradually slow down. She positioned herself to pull out, contemplating letting the come be a mess to clean up later.

“No, no come inside me,” Angela whispered hotly against Fareeha’s ear, pushing her hips forward to penetrate herself deeper. “Please. Fill me up. I only want you.”

She pressed wet kisses along Fareeha’s neck, coating the woman’s chin and cheeks with smeared lip balm. Despite the encouragement, Fareeha still hesitated, a firm squeeze against Angela’s ass for leverage. “B-But, I don’t wanna-”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Angela said in-between kisses, nestling her nose into Fareeha’s neck and inhaling the scent of hair and sweat and shame reeking off both of them. Even after a moment of doubt, it only took a few more heavy thrusts for Fareeha to finish, come splattering wetly down Angela’s inner thighs. Angela squeezed around Fareeha’s cock as her climax finally came, prickling her skin over with little bursts of endorphin. She moaned into Fareeha’s skin, lips pursed and legs still clinging for dear life around the taller woman’s waist.

She could barely stand when she finally made it to the floor, her legs damn near giving up on her until she stumbled towards the toilet to sit. Fareeha sunk down, her flaccid cock tucked back inside her pants and sweat dripping off her brow as she caught her breath. She rubbed her temples for a minute, her expression as flustered as the first time.

“No matter what, it still feels so weird,” Fareeha said. “Why do I feel like I need to keep this a secret? I mean, I’m the one who dragged you into a bathroom. What am I, a hippie?”

“Then somewhere else next time,” Angela said. “If you want there to be a next time, of course.”

Fareeha changed the topic, “You aren’t worried we’re taking this a little too quickly? I mean, we haven’t gone on an actual date yet and our first kiss was seconds before we…did it for the first time and-Ugh! I can’t believe I’m saying this in front of a toilet! I feel like my mother.”

Fareeha buried her head in her hands, groaning. Angela gave Fareeha an encouraging smile, her tone joking yet polite. “You’d need to have at least a dozen more partners before claiming that title.”

Fareeha looked up from her hands, a ghost of a smile despite how stressed the rest of her body language was. She rolled back her shoulders, expelling a few deep breaths out of her nostrils as she stood up. They made their way out of the stall, a slightly more dignified place for discussion.

“Angela…” Fareeha began. “I really do like you. I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now.”

“I like you, too.”

“And since I figure we’re both taking this seriously, I want it to be fair for both of us.” Fareeha’s expression was tense, hands gripping Angela gently by the wrists. They were both too nervous to make full eye contact yet. “This is really important to me and the last thing I want is for us to go into this blindly. I don’t know if we can even say we’re together yet-I’m barely ready to say that out loud. I guess that…” Fareeha stopped herself, chewing her bottom lip.

“Go on, tell me.”

“I much rather get to know you as a partner and a friend first.”

Angela internalized the statement but nodded in agreement. “As do I. I apologize if you ever felt pressured or uncomfortable with me, Fareeha. I may have gotten ahead of myself.”

“No, never!” Fareeha interjected. Angela blushed, Fareeha’s dark yet warm eyes coaxing away any of her previous shame. “You’re always so…kind.”

Fareeha put her hands on her hips as she sighed, her expression firm but not cold. “I don’t want to rush things with you. I’m really sorry, but I don’t think I’m ready yet. I’m not ready for you.”

“You say that as if I’m something special.”

“You do know who you are, right?”

“I was about to ask the same thing,” Angela replied, adjusting the collar of her shirt as a distraction. “You and I are busy people and if you don’t feel like we’re ready, I have no reason to push you.”

That response seemed to ease Fareeha’s nerves and she smiled, the hands she rested on Angela’s shoulders more out of respect than invitation for another kiss. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“I have some loose ends to tie up myself,” Angela said. “If you have a change of heart, come find me.”

“There’s not many I’d trust with my heart,” Fareeha smiled, a dorky punchline already warmed up. “Figuratively and literally.”

Angela laughed. “Always a pleasure, Amari.”

They were quickly interrupted by Brigitte storming into the restroom, slamming the door open with a concerned look. “Oh, I’ve been looking everywhere for you two. Come quick.”

“Brigitte? What’s wrong?” Angela said as she followed the frantic younger woman down the hall and to the elevator.

“An emergency?” Fareeha asked.

“It’s Vishkar,” Brigitte said, impatiently bouncing from foot to foot as she waited for the elevator to come. “One of their buildings is in flames.”


	10. Anubis Pt. One

“You really think Talon had something to do with this?”

“I’m certain,” Winston said, adjusting his grip on his Tesla Canon as well as he could in a moving dropship. “Sanjay Korpel reports that a significant part of the West Wing was destroyed right before a troop of Talon agents swept in and invaded the building. We might have a few hostage situations on our hands so approach with as much caution as possible.”

“Or blow their heads off point blank,” Jack said, his voice partially muffled behind his visor. Ana rolled her eye, her expression visible without her infamous Shrike mask obscuring her features. Turning towards her daughter, Ana offered a compassionate smile.

“We felt the situation was too dire to stand by this time,” she said. “Me and Jack will watch the perimeter, keep the outfield in check while you support Hana and Brigitte in the city area. We’ll have some troops head indoors as soon as possible.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Fareeha said.

“And I just couldn’t bring myself to let my squire head into battle alone,” Reinhardt added, managing to keep a heroic knee mid rock of the dropship. Brigitte returned his smile, Torbjörn standing close behind her to do some last minute inspections on her armor.

“Seeing you throw yourself out there always made me nervous,” He said, pushing up his welding mask to his forehead. “Promise me you’ll stick close to Hana and don’t cause too much of a ruckus. Don’t shed blood if you don’t need to. A stun is only necessary if-”

“Papa, I’ll be fine!” Brigitte said with a laugh, turning towards Fareeha. “We’ll be under the lead of someone we can trust.”

“Quite the leader, isn’t she? I wonder where she gets it from.” Ana added.

“Hey, you’re the ones who insist I take the lead. I just want as few causalities as possible.” Fareeha said, unable to return the warm looks that were probably supposed to be comforting her. Fighting alongside her mother should have been a childhood fantasy realized, but actually standing alongside her war hero gone refugee muddied the details just a little bit.

Still, it was awfully noble for the vets to step in when they saw how dense the situation was. The explosion alone had caused seven deaths and while the bomb was still eating its was way through Vishkar’s base, Talon troops swooped almost in immediately, holding employees at gunpoint or killing them on the spot if they didn’t prove valuable. Fareeha was no stranger to death but the detail alone made her shiver. She’d much rather avoid Vishkar due to personal politics, and yet the idea of stepping foot in their premises again for such a reason had her heart pounding.

With the talk of Vishkar forming a partnership with the most advanced city on earth, it would only make sense that a band of criminals would try to steal anything worth the time of Oasis Ministers. Despite spending a good few months in Overwatch now, Fareeha couldn’t say she had a one-on-one interaction with Talon until the banquet mishap. She knew better than to trust a group with that kind of clout, especially when they mysteriously became more vicious when Overwatch disbanded.

The Recall didn’t change much as instead of waging full out war, they stuck to discreet and slimier tactics to slip their way into the cracks. Eliminating a few of them would probably do the world some service. Even if it was mostly their faceless rookies, it be a hundred or so less low lives to worry about seeing on the streets. Get rid of their main line of defense and the real trouble would have no choice but to take them head on.

“How’s Hana?” Fareeha asked.

“Hana and her mech are in the second ship with some more soldiers,” Brigitte said. “She’ll be covering the ground with me.”

“I hope the progress on her mech wasn’t halted due to the mission.” Angela said.

Brigitte gave a confident grin. “You know I’ve always been a fast worker. With Hana in the warehouse with me, I can get twice as much done. Starting to get jealous of her handiwork, to be honest.”

“Hey!” Hana’s voice rang out from Brigitte’s ear piece. “Don’t flatter me when I’m not even there!”

“You two flirt even when you’re literally a whole sky away from each other,” Lena’s chipper voice came from a distance, clearly amused. “I get ya. I used to draw hearts with my old aircraft to give Emily a show.”

“Not exactly appropriate for right now, Tracer.” Hana said.

“Oops,” Brigitte said, snickering. “Must have left my comms on.”

“Well we’re all highly grateful for the help,” Angela said, her Caduceus staff firmly by her side. Her Swift Response suit seemed to radiate an angelic glow even in the darkness of the ship, the golds and whites of her armor making up for the fact the highlights of her wings were tucked away. They’d both be in full flight by the time the ship got to a safer dropping point, a necessary heads up to survey the area.

She looked up, offering Fareeha a soft smile. “You seem tense, I thought you liked danger?”

“It comes and goes,” Fareeha said, putting on her helmet and grabbing her rocket launcher from the above storage. “I’ll try not to outshine you this time.”

“Ha, not likely!” Angela threw in a dramatic spreading of her wings that were now in their full glory. “I tend to be hard to miss.”

“We’re getting close,” The pilot said, taking a deep dive that put them in full of view of Utopea. Vishkar was just a little up ahead, a pillar of smoke marking it better than its massive buildings. “Mercy, Pharah-this is your stop.”

“Affirmative,” Fareeha stood beside Angela as the door opened, the ground still many feet beneath them.

“Are you ready, Fareeha?”

“Only if you are,”

The pilot began the countdown from the cockpit, steadying the ship just enough for their take off. “In three…two…one-Go!”

Angela and Fareeha bounded off the ship in unison, Fareeha’s Raptora suit buzzing to life as Angela sent her wings into a glide, her staff keeping a trail of bright blue biotics between the two of them. Though Fareeha was taking the lead due to her speed, it always felt like her and Angela were flying as one. Flying with Helix was more uniform, each soldier getting an assigned route to cover as much ground as possible, but Angela always drifted close by. It was her right as a medic to stay by a possible patient, but Fareeha had to admit it gave her a sense of unity and protection no one else could.

“Let me know if I’m going too fast for you.”

“You know I’ve greatly reduced the speed of my suit for your sake,” Angela said. “It be rude to leave a rookie in the dust.”

“Rookie?” Fareeha slowed her flight down to a hover as she finally reached the nearest building, cocking her rocket launcher as her helmet’s visor caught a read on the location. “You may be the medic but we both know I’m the real muscle between us.”

Angela put a finger to her chin. “I’m sure you know by now I’m not slacking in that department myself.”

Fareeha was grateful for her helmet obscuring her features and she had to turn her attention back to the array of buildings to hide her blush, an ear to her communicator. “Deport successful. Me and Mercy will begin taking out Talon troops in the North Wing and make our way forward.”

“Me and Jack will head South. You two try to reduce damage to nearby buildings as much as possible.” Ana replied.

Fareeha nodded. “Of course,”

“Stay safe, _ḥabībti_.”

“I’m your daughter,” Fareeha said, reading her launcher to throw off a hurdle of Talon troops. “Safe isn’t my style.”

* * *

 “ _La uña del dragón_

 _Te lleva a los infiernos_ …”

“Sombra,”

_“Ella es tu adicción_

_Te besa y te desnuda con su baile demencial.”_

“Sombra, please. I’m trying to focus.”

“I’m just testing out the acoustics of this place,” Sombra did a small pivot on the edge of the building, arms outstretched to her sides to keep her balance. “I’ve never been to India before. Think we’ll have time to tour the sites later?”

“Not likely,” Widow replied, watching with contempt as Sombra just barely hopped over the nose of her riffle. “Our mission is simple, Sombra. Once the target arrives, I take fire and head to cover. You’re only here as backup before you locate Dr. Ziegler.”

“What, you think I can’t give that gun a try? It’s called the Widow’s Kiss, right? Super pretty.”

“It’s not the same, _mon cher_.” Sombra chuckled, jumping back to the flat top of the building to pace around.

It was a mostly silent time at their assigned post with Akande and Moira off in Vishkar’s main building. Utopea was awfully massive and lived up to its name with nothing but looming infrastructures glowing against the peaking sunrise. Her research informed her that more than seventy percent of the tech and energy that powered the place was hard light, that number growing exceptionally over the world due to Vishkar’s lucrative practices.

Every ad and billboard was singing Vishkar’s praises, Sombra’s favorite detail being a “before and after” segment that showed run down ghettos being built from the ground up by Vishkar’s interference. A bit self-serving to place a whole city around one cooperation, though Sombra didn’t have much reason to doubt their “steps to a better future” as her translator of the Hindi text crossing the hologram informed her.

Something about it seemed a bit lifeless, though. Dorado was no polished utopia, but the culture and people there were still intact. It smelled like fresh baked bread and spray paint and that was the city Sombra knew. But Utopea was so painfully static that it only took a read of the climate and some distant natural structures to even tell it was Indian soil it was built on. The authenticity seemed to be sucked out and replaced with uniform order and organization. Too clean, too polished, pity the most activity it seemed to know was when a slaughter was among them.

She sung quietly to herself, rocking back and forth. “ _Ella que será_. _She's livin' la vida loca…_ ”

Sombra heard her earpiece buzz and she held her finger against it. “Talk to me.”

“Sombra, are you in position?”

“I’ve _been_ in position,” Sombra said. “You should have told me to bring my sleeping bag, Moira.”

“That wouldn’t be necessary,” Moira said. “Don’t forget you have an important part to play, Sombra. This experiment would never go through without your assistance.”

“And that involves me playing babysitter to your pet spider?”

“Just please check on Lacroix for me again,” Moira said. “I’ll give her a proper look when the mission is over.”

Sombra looked over her shoulder to see Widow in the same fixed stance she was in over an hour ago. No Overwatch agents had passed and yet her finger was placed on the trigger if the moment ever came. Knowing her, she’d be racking up headshots once the troops branched out to the West Wing before they could even notice.

“You alright, _arana_?”

“Hm,” Widow only nodded, her eye not once slipping away from the focus of her scope.

“She’s cool,” Sombra said. “Or, cooler than usual. Whatever.”

“Good,” Moira said and Sombra could hear the smile through her ear piece. “Report back immediately if you suspect any strange activity, otherwise, stay in the West Wing until further instructions. Timing is everything.”

“Someone’s finnicky today.”

Moira sighed. “I’ll report back in no less than an hour. I caught wind that Dr. Ziegler and Commander Amari’s daughter aren’t too far from here and I expect you to disturb their path as soon as possible.”

“That’s what I got my translocator for, _chika_. In and out without a sound.”

“Just make sure Dr. Ziegler knows what damage we can do to her,” Moira said, her tone growing more sinister. “Once you’ve offered your input, I’ll gladly take the reins.”

“Copy,” Moira’s end of the call cut off and Sombra rolled back her shoulders with a yawn. She’d only been on patrol for about two hours but the position just didn’t suit her. She’d much rather be on her feet, using the parkour her years as a street thug blessed her body with, or in a comfy chair reminding Talon that there was no one else on earth with such a magic touch.

But Moira insisted that she stay put beside Widowmaker until the signal. The lanky geneticist was making rounds of Vishkar, easily able to literally slip through cracks and avoid detection from onlookers. Not that she would need to as she was heading in out of uniform as an indifferent Oasis observer. No one needed to know she was pulling the strings if she played her part well enough.

Sombra sighed. She could activate her invisibility and be translocated back to Widow’s perch with coffee in ten minutes if she wanted to. But Moira had an iron grip on the operation and Akande would give her hell for acting against a council member’s request. No sullying the plan, no jumping to her own agendas. She’d be getting far more out of this if she actually _didn’t_ decide to go the blackmail and lying routine, but it was just more fun to have the heads up. Darn, and it worked so well the first time.

She looked back at Widowmaker who still wasn’t budging. Even with Utopea’s unforgivably warm climate making Sombra regret wearing her signature neon trench coat today, Widow didn’t look the slightest bit phased or impatient. When the urge to kill was the only thing giving your life purpose, you’d think she’d be a bit more antsy.

“You got a minute, _chika_?” It’ll probably be awhile until they reach us. Thought we could chat a little.”

Widow still didn’t move from her spot.

Sombra playfully nudged her shoulder. “Come _onn~_. You’ll probably be the first to hear someone sneeze a mile away. It’ll just be a minute.”

That seemed to be the magic words as Widow got up from her crouch, standing to her full height with a gloved hand tapping along her hip. “You were saying?”

“Things have been a little more crazy than usual lately and I wanted to know how you were feeling about it,” Sombra began. “I mean, the whole Vishkar and Oasis thing and then we’ve got resident _científico loco_ doing God knows what once I get my cut of the deal. Can’t help but ask where you fall into all this.”

“I fall where Talon needs me. I am of best service to Moira at the moment, so that is where my loyalty lies.”

“…So, no biggy?”

Widow looked puzzled, or at least her idea of what a puzzled expression was.

Sombra scratched the back of her head. “Well, do you remember anything weird from the past few days? Weeks? Anything?”

“Weird?” Widow cocked her head, her forehead creasing just slightly. “That depends. Your definition of odd is far different than mine.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Negative, I don’t.”

Sombra rubbed her temple. “Let me be more specific…when was the last time you talked to Moira?”

That at least got Widow thinking, even loosening the grip on her riffle and letting it hang limply by her side. “A conversation isn’t the word I would use. It was more like a lecture, you know how she is.”

“What did she say?”

“I’m afraid that’s confidential,” Widow admitted, shrugging. “Aren’t you the hacker among us? Why do you need me to tell you anything?”

“It doesn’t always have to be business, _hermana_!” Sombra tried to pass off her creeping anxiety with a laugh, not exactly delighted to see Widow’s mouth didn’t even twitch.

The time you were in a biotics bath. Sombra wanted to say. When Moira shoved you into an oversized test tube and rearranged all the shit in your head? Remember that? I sure as hell do!

“You elude me, Sombra…More than usual,” Widow said. “What me and Moira handle is primarily of scientific reasoning. I couldn’t even tell you what she was doing if I tried. All I know is that it is in the best interest of Talon that it be a private matter.”

But what about yours? Sombra had to swallow her next question. For once in her life, she felt at a loss to get the information she wanted. Widowmaker was the worst type of firewall, seeming to purely exist to not give any answers no matter how much she tried to decode it. She had no intentions to screw over Talon as long as they were signing her paychecks, but something about Widow’s condition just wasn’t sitting right with her.

If Moira was mostly indifferent to Widow’s state than she may as well be, right? If Widow was better off blindly doing what she was told because she lacked the conscience and memory to refuse orders, then Sombra had no reason to pry into it…but it just wasn’t in her nature to let things be as they were.

There were answers and secrets everywhere and the horrifying truth was that Widowmaker was nothing more than a persona forcefully draped over a woman who didn’t ask for any of it. And if that woman didn’t comply, her and the persona would be thrown out for something better. Sombra found herself worrying that if she ever tried to trigger a response from Amélie, she couldn’t see her time in Talon lasted much longer.

“I know it’s weird that I’m asking all these questions, I just-”

“You’re right, it is weird,” Widow replied bluntly, seemingly eager to end the conversation. “You should be more concerned about your assignment, not my well being.”

“But I, uh… Sombra sighed in defeat, realizing just how fruitless her effort was before preparing herself to jump to her translocater. “Just forget it. I’m sure you will, anyway.”

* * *

 “Seems about clear,” Fareeha said. “Looks like everyone cleared out by the time they heard we were showing up.”

“You might be right,” Angela replied, remembering how a number of Talon attack helicopters had swooped in not too long ago to pick up a few panicked soldiers before they could meet their fates. Fareeha had contemplated shooting them down on contact, but Utopea would give them hell of the explosion triggered any extra damages in the process. Better safe than sorry, even when it came to preventing a similar terrorist attack on another city.

Angela had seen Fareeha fight plenty of times but the soldier was truly a force to be reckoned with in the heat of battle, not once hesitating to send down a barrage of bullets like a rain of destruction. With Angela staying close behind with a damage boost in circulation, the soldiers were better off cowering back to their base or having their limbs scattered in the process.

Fareeha already had quite the reputation in the field without Ana’s name attached and a few who seemed aware of Helix’s thorough treatment of criminals were right to evacuate. Less of a mess on Angela’s hands and less chances of debris to fill the rest of Utopea. The North Wing hadn’t taken much more abuse, the rate everyone exited the second Reinhardt charged forward was enough to have them dropping their weapons.

The ground team had already charged ahead, leaving Angela and Fareeha to their own devices. The mission seemed to be wrapping up, the two of them at a heroic hover over an operating Vishkar building.

“Com One, this is Pharah. Me and Mercy will survey the area for any survivors and rogue Talon agents. What’s your status?”

“No bizarre activity so far,” Ana replied. “Me and Jack handled some rooftop snipers and D.Va and Brigitte will begin escorting citizens into the safe house. I suggest you join them when you can.”

“Copy that,” Fareeha ended her call, turning to face Angela. “Limited causalities, the soldiers are out, and we won’t be paying the bill for the roads I destroyed. Couldn’t have gone better.”

Angela smiled. “Let’s wait until we get back to the ground. You know if there’s anyone with even a scrape, I’m rushing to their aid as soon as possible. Vishkar is a tech company, not a hospital.”

“Or Brigitte can always give them armor,” Fareeha suggested playfully. “I remember Reinhardt used to sing for me whenever I scrapped my knee. Made me feel a whole lot better.”

“Not exactly what I meant,” Angela chuckled.

“Oh, I’m sure your little friends can handle it from here.” A voice that didn’t come from either of them said right out of earshot. Fareeha and Angela exchanged a look before desperately trying to track down the source. “Can’t say Angie will be of much use soon. Let the lackey pick up the slack this time.”

Angela was readying herself to grab her blaster but was thrown off balance when Sombra’s voice rung through the air, a dome of blinding violet light assaulting both her and Fareeha. “ _Apagando las luces_!”

The two of them were thrown out of their hover in an instant, their suits offering no response no matter how many vocal cues and commands they tried to input. They collided with the roof of the building, Fareeha letting out a strangled shout as her back met the hard surface. Angela was no better, her wings not offering much purchase for the fall. She heard something snap and bend beneath her, her head knocking hard against the roof.

“Angela? Angela!” Fareeha’s voice was audible beyond the ringing assaulting Angela’s ears, turning on her side as she felt a few pieces of her wing slip out of place. Fareeha was no better, the glass of her helmet now displaying a massive crack, rendering its more technical enhancements useless.

Angela placed a finger to her com, “Com One, respond! Com One, come in!”

Only static returned, penetrating Angela’s ear with a fuzzy signal.

Sombra’s chuckle beckoned her attention away from the malfunctioning ear piece, the air letting off subtle vibrations as the sheen of a purple cloaking device unveiled the woman responsible. “Consider anything with an electronic pulse completely useless for the next hour. Or, at least until I’m done having my fun with you two.”

Sombra strolled at a leisurely pace, giving Fareeha a satisfied smile before sending a swift kick into her waist, pushing her further back on the rooftop. Despite Sombra’s lither frame, Fareeha’s weaker state made the hit enough to send her tumbling backwards, a few extra feet away from Angela for good measure.

“Fareeha!”

“She’ll be fine,” Sombra said, inspecting her foot. “But my pedicure is definitely ruined.”

She did a half skip to Angela’s position and bent down, long nails eagerly drumming against her knees. Her expression was nauseatingly satisfied with her new plaything, taking her sweet time analyzing how Angela’s expression shifted from pain to shock to anger.

“I take it you were behind all this?”

Sombra quirked a brow. “That’s pretty high praise, but I’m not the actual ringleader here. Consider me the messenger this time around,” Sombra said. “Hope you’re enjoying the little enhancements I left you two with. Nothing fancy, but you’d be surprised what a few extra kilograms per second can do to you. Try not to pull a muscle, okay? Especially you, birdy.”

A chill ran down Angela’s spine, more so for Fareeha than herself who was still recovering from the earlier blow. With the weight of her Raptora suit, she’d be near immobile in a short while. Fareeha’s face was fixed into a grimace, the effects of Sombra’s infection forcing her to lay flat on her stomach with even her helmet a hazard to her spine. She spoke through her teeth, hands desperately trying to grip at the rooftop for support. “Angela…we’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Wow, you really are _just like_ your mom,” Sombra said with a cruel little laugh. “Is lying just an Amari thing?”

Angela could feel her suit slowly shutting down around her as well, weighing down her body with each agonizing second. She reached for her blaster, the pressure overwhelming her gloves making the otherwise weightless weapon a chore to pull to her side. She could barely register the simple commands to bend her fingers, let alone keep herself steady enough to hold the gun correctly when she managed to get it in her hand. Sombra simply watched, amused as the medic desperately tried to perform something that used to be so simple.

“What’s the deal, _ángel_? You pull a gun on me and don’t even ask me out to dinner first.”

Angela glowered, her finger unable to pull the trigger of her blaster even if she wanted. It was a hollow threat though one she was far more willing to act on now that she knew Sombra had intentions of singling them out. Her index finger, pressed down just barely enough to send a bullet flying was stuck in place, leading up to a stiff arm and upper body. She felt like her entire top half had gained a million more pounds, like lead had been dropped on her shoulders and was dragging her closer to the earth.

Angela’s breath caught in her throat, coming to the realization that she was slowly easing into the paralysis, fixed in place by something as simple as Sombra’s will. The hacker hummed to herself as she popped up a miniature screen between her forefinger and thumb. Angela tried to budge from her position. Nothing. She could only watch as Sombra passed by a few windows before settling on the file she was looking for.

“What is that?” Angela asked, fear gripping her heart as she realized the hacker’s games hadn’t ended yet. That was the thing about Talon operatives. They were ruthless to a fault, clearly delighting in the horror they could inflict on their victims and still having the drive to do it all again.

“I’m just dropping off a present, custom made,” Sombra plucked out a small cube dyed the same deep violet as the rest of her accessories. “This is just an extra something I wanted you to have. Blondes have more fun, am I right?”

“Get away from her!” Fareeha shouted, now resulting to crawling on her stomach for the few inches she could manage. Fareeha let out a pained grunt with each pull of her body, her legs uselessly dragging behind with only one arm to support herself. Her Raptora suit dug into the hard surface of the roof with each attempt, an audible _screeeech!_ as her broad chest plate took the damage for her.

“Just giving your girlfriend a present,” Sombra said, setting the cube into a hover between her and Angela. “On the upside, you’ll get to see her out of this suit a lot more often.”

“Stop! I said stop!” Fareeha shouted between panicked huffs of air, the paralysis and extra weight taking its toll on her physique. Sombra was clearly delighting in the woman’s pleas, offering Angela a condescending pat on the cheek in mock comfort.

“You got a real keeper, _ángel_. Hope she won’t be jealous of our little anniversary gift.”

Sombra placed the tip of her index finger against the cube, pushing it forward and watching it dissolve into the build of Angela’s armor with a sickeningly childish, “Boop!”


	11. Anubis Pt. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// THIS IS WHERE THE "GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE" KICK IN. AND IF YOU MAY BE BOTHERED BY THAT, BLOOD. OR VOMITING, YOU MAY WANT TO STEER CLEAR OF THIS CHAPTER ALL TOGETHER OR JUST TREAD CAREFULLY. otherwise, please enjoy and thank you for reading.

“How could this possibly happen? And now, of all times,” Satya Vaswani wrung her hands together as she paced back and forth in the lowest level of the Vishkar building, worry imminent on her features despite the usual mask of stoicism Moira had gotten so used to associating her with.

Satya seemed like the kind of woman who wouldn’t let her coworkers even see her stutter or trip and here was on the cusp of a full-blown anxiety attack. “We must look so unprofessional. How foolish.”

Satya must have not known she was talking to herself, barely registering Moira and Akande making their way towards her through the cramped meeting room floor they had to use for shelter.

“Ah yes, here she is.” Akande’s voice beckoned Satya’s attention away from her worry and she turned, her eyes wide behind her visor.

“Minister O’Deorain!” Satya rubbed off an invisible piece of dust from her uniform before offering Moira a handshake. “I must have lost track of time. Were you scheduled to arrive today? I could have sworn I’d only be seeing Ogundimu.”

Moira smiled as she returned the gesture.

Satya was much younger than Moira had expected, likely not even pushing her thirties yet. Smooth brown skin, modest height, raven hair falling loose from what was likely a well-practiced bun.

All the pieces in place and yet none of it going the way she had hoped. Moira had to try not to laugh as she replied, “No need, Satya. Akande invited me to observe the process of the NeuroVish with him, but I see you’ve made some new friends.”

Satya chewed her lip, pushing her bangs behind her ear. “Yes, I’m afraid so. The invasion was less lethal than anticipated, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen again. How careless! The labs, the employees, the tech, the security measures must be in shambles.”

“I wouldn’t worry so much, Satya.” Akande assured. “Sanjay informs me that Overwatch arrived as soon as possible to put an end to this attack. We’re in good hands.”

Overwatch. As expected.

Made entirely on Sanjay’s request to arrive as soon as Vishkar was ambushed, but Satya and the rest of the Utopean citizens were falling into the procedure perfectly.  

Satya rubbed her temple with her prosthetic hand and sighed. “My apologies that this was your first impression of our fine city, Minister. I swear, our defenses are usually much more efficient,” she said. “And certainly not lowly enough to request Overwatch’s assistance with such matters.”

“This isn’t your fault in the slightest, Miss Vaswani. Talon may be ruthless, but Vishkar is always prepared for such an event. Overwatch is just here to clean up some of the mess.”

“I’m certain things will continue normally sooner or later,” Akande added. “The safety of your citizens is what matters.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Satya said, even if her pained expression reeked of doubt. “When this all simmers down, I’d be more than happy to conclude the demonstration I showed Mr. Ogundimu. Perhaps some thoughts you’d like to offer before the shipping process begins?”

Moira stole a glance over at Akande. “I imagine you’ve told her about our little friend.”

“Certainly,” Akande said. “A proper database and the NeuroVish will be near perfect. Nothing less than flawless for our dear Satya, of course.”

Satya nodded. “It appears I was the slightest bit shortsighted about such an immersive database. Minister O’Deorain, I imagine it will be a great use to you and your students.”

“Certainly,” Moira said. “At Oasis we have a combination of traditional and electronic archiving and this will only be a more personable addition to our library. Perhaps I can offer some of my studies to the NeroVish, on your request, of course.”

“R-Really? I’d be honored to have your input-” A faint buzz only Moira could hear. Widowmaker. Perfect.

“Hold that thought,” Moira put a finger to her ear and excused herself out of the only door that didn’t lead to a storage closet. “I have a call. I won’t be gone for long.”

“Of course, take your time.”

Moira was down the hall soon enough, the area entirely empty with most of the Vishkar workers huddled in any room they could use for safety. She put a finger to her coms.

“Lacroix, this is Moira. Copy.”

“Yes…hello, Moira…” Moira scrunched her brow, Amélie’s voice sounding strained as if she were speaking through her teeth.

Never mind that.

“Lacroix, part two of our mission is underway. Are you in position?”

“…I’m so high up,” Amélie said simply. “Who put me here?”

Moira felt her calm visage begin to slip, an audible groan as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

A lack of compliance, a blank stare overlooking the horizon where there should have been the nose of a riffle.

And now. Why now?

Lacroix, we don’t have time for this! _Widowmaker_ has an assignment to complete and I’ll smother you a million more times before I have you jeopardize this operation, was what Moira’s thoughts were screaming, but she instead let out a passive “Damn it,” before she cut off her call and rung up com three in her earpiece, a short chime signifying Sanjay’s end of the line.

“Oh, Miss O’Deorain! Is everything alright?”

“Quite the opposite,” Moira replied glumly. “Lacroix has become incorporative for what could be the remainder of our mission. I suppose we’ll have to take more invasive means to leave with what we came for.”

Sanjay gulped audibly, his voice low as he spoke tensely into his piece. “Uh…the vial you gave me, I’m assuming.”

“Sombra should have passed it on to you during the banquet. What matters is that you have it on your person. Do you?”

“Uh, yes. So, I’m assuming that-”

“I need you to inject the biotics into Miss Song as soon as possible. Get her alone and shoot it into any vein you can find. I’ll handle it from there.”

“But, if you don’t mind me asking, what if Miss Song throws a fuss? She’ll panic.”

Moira smirked, honestly amused at the lack of vision a Vishkar employee had. If there was anything being in Blackwatch taught Moira-one of few valuable pieces of information Overwatch could ever let her keep-it was that a second course of action should always be kept in mind. Commander Reyes always knew how to think ahead, and so did she.

When allies didn’t fall into line, a new operation had to be acted on by a whim. Anything to reach your goal.

“You do understand the power of the tech your most valued employee has developed, right? It will be an at most minor adjustment in the grand scheme of things. Let’s just say I’ll…trim the fat off that unfortunate encounter and she’ll be none the wiser.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

“Excellent,” Moira said. “I’ll take Miss Song under my care when the effects kick in. I imagine she won’t be very picky about who gives a helping hand in her dire situation.”

* * *

The Vishkar safe house proved to be awfully convenient for the invasion. Even for what was pretty much a flat building hiding in the far off corners of Utopea, it still subscribed to Utopea’s clean white aesthetic and was stocked to the brim with nonperishable foods and the bare minimum for survival if a crisis were to arrive.

Rooms, furniture, washrooms, a few changes of clothes and medical supplies-she couldn’t fault them for at least being prepared.

Hana couldn’t even tell if the safe house had gotten any use until recently, the residents still looking painfully indifferent with most preferring to pace around the halls instead of occupying a room.

Utopea must have been so used to their perfect little palace being in order, they didn’t know the first thing about justified human panic.

Supposedly this mini hotel of a bunker had been constructed just a little after the Omnic Crisis, Utopea never being one to be outshined even it came to basic shelter.

The deaths were kept at a minimum, including some valued workers that kept their city afloat, but there seemed to be a complete disconnect between the tragedies of Talon’s assault and their need to get back on the surface.

Maybe just a cultural difference, Hana figured. She hadn’t been in many other countries besides Korea with the occasional trip to Japan and America for gaming tournaments, but that was a long time ago when she could say being a pro gamer was her real career.

Now, she was a soldier and saving the lives of digital avatars paled in comparison to helping actual people.

Even if there was a certain playfulness to piloting around a bubblegum pink machine and tech customized to portray her famous rabbit insignia, Hana took her position as a soldier with utter seriousness.

Almost to the point she felt uneasy leaving her mech in the hands of some workers Sanjay insisted hoist it up to an upstairs dome.  

“You’ve done enough,” He had said. “Your mech will be in safe hands with Vishkar involved.”

She took his word for it, assuming she wouldn’t have to jump back into her mech again unless an emergency was among them. The situation seemed to be dying down and they’d be back at base to honor a job well down in maybe an hour or two. For now, they would lay low and keep an eye on everyone until Vishkar no longer needed their services.

“You’re pretty noble, you know?” Brigitte said when the two of them settled down in the safehouse’s cafeteria, far enough back at one of the tables to speak in privacy.

Brigitte was digging into a generous pile of Vishkar brand vending machine confections that Sanjay was planning to throw away since they would be expired in a week. Brigitte decided to remedy the situation the best way she could, already on her third mint flavored snack cake while Hana nibbled on a candy bar.

“Noble isn’t the word I would use,” Hana replied. “Responsible on a good day but noble might be pushing it.”

“I know it’s a little old fashioned but it’s high praise where I grew up,” Brigitte said. “A Crusader prides themselves on their willingness to serve and protect and you fit the bag just fine. The way I watch you fight. The strategy and quick thinking, it’s amazing. Not to mention you have the skills to do it again and again. I’ve never met someone with your reflexes.”

Hana had to suppress a flustered giggle by taking a bite that was much too big for her mouth to handle. “Mm hmm!”

“I know the Crusaders aren’t quite a thing anymore, but I think they’d just adore you. Your mech’s about as big as Rein’s suit, anyway.”

Hana swallowed her piece, her throat dry. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but I guess that’s pretty new. Cute, perfect, and amazing come to mind but noble is pretty out there. The celebrity treatment is just an endless stream of people giving you hollow compliments on how good I look in this suit.”

Brigitte said, “You’ve told me a little bit about how they treat you in Busan. It’s honestly insane the following you’ve acquired.”

“It’s a living,”

“I suppose the hero of Korea only deserves the best treatment. Glitz and glamor twenty-four seven is something else. I could never get use to that.”

“I’m still not used to it,” Hana replied, grabbing what she figured was a sleeve of cookies from the pile. “I mean, I’d do anything to protect my country and it really took a lot of negotiating with my squad to even accept the invite. If anything, I’m just here so that MEKA can have a presence in Overwatch too.”

Brigitte hesitated for a second before asking, “And when you do, then you’ll just go back?”

“I have to,” Hana said. “Leaving my crew behind was hard enough and I promised I’d only be away for a couple months at the most. This is kind of a dead period for the Gwishin and no one has rung me up about any further attacks. They keep saying ‘relax, we got this’ but I’m so worried that me being away just long enough will-”

“Hana, don’t do that to yourself! You always start rambling and I’d…I’d hate to see you start crying again.”

“Oh yeah, that. Sorry.” Hana felt along her face, luckily only finding the paint of her pink whiskers and not a stray tear drop. She had only gone into a panicked rambling in front of Brigitte once. She was sleep deprived and the fumes of the warehouse hadn’t been aired out yet, leaving the two of them left to inhale metal, paint, and old cans of soda in their equally parts perfect yet dingy paradise.

Something about it had the two of them having a heart to heart which resulted in Hana going into a lengthy explanation about her dropping out of high school and spending a huge chunk of her late teens away from her parents to utilize her gaming skills into mech piloting.

It was never the easiest story to tell and about everyone else in her crew had similar experiences, having to trade out time with their own flesh and blood and the prime of their youth for extensive training and dinners in their honor once their fights became profitable. It felt like one of many things Hana had to sacrifice in the wake of the Omnic Crisis but it didn’t mean it hurt any less.

“You come from a big family, right?” Hana asked.

“That’s putting it pretty mildly, but I do.”

“What’s it like?”

Brigitte held a finger to her chin as she thought. “Mmm…messy. And loud. Not a lot of privacy either and since I’ve got a lot of siblings inheriting my dad’s habit of…reproducing, I can’t say it’ll change any time soon. I’m twenty-three and already an aunt to four nephews and a niece that should be coming by next spring.”

“Was that why you went out with Reinhardt, for privacy?”

“He’s always been a family friend and he’s my godfather, but I mostly followed him because he seemed to know exactly what he wanted out of life and I just didn’t. All that time I spent watching him fight and improve himself, it inspired me to do the same.”

Hana only nodded, chewing slowly on her cookie as she was taken aback by the statement. Brigitte seemed to be the kind of person devoid of any insecurities let alone fears about a successful future. As to why Hana thought so was complicated enough.

She liked to deduce that maybe she was so used to be treated like sheer perfection that such a real, authentic human being with no interest in fighting for a prize felt unattainable.

Brigitte was so painfully, incredibly _here_  and a part of it made Hana feel emotions she often reserved for posters of attractive pop stars and her favorite drama actors.

The main difference that was making her palms sweat was that the one she was gushing over was right across the table and eating enough food for a week. Brigitte having spent only a few years longer in the hellscape the Omnic Crisis created meant her and Hana were built from the same war-torn soil, forced to clean up whatever mess was left.

Maybe that was why the two of them hit it off so well-that and their shared love for fatty snacks, tinkering with machines, and gushing over cute cat videos.

Hana thought of her next few words carefully, kicking her feet against her chair. “Hey, uh, Brigitte?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you…have anyone waiting for you at home?”

Brigitte talked around a bite. “Hmm…a few, actually.”

Crap, no shocker that she’s popular. Hana began fiddling the wrapper of the sleeve of cookies to distract herself. “Oh, well I hate that you have to keep them waiting. I bet they’re all fighting for your attention nonstop.”

Brigitte rolled her eyes. “Ugh, tell me about it. I can’t go five seconds without one of them moaning and whining about something. Takes a lot out of me, but I think a little distance will do them some good. Tough love and all that.”

“I think I saw that in a dating advice column once,” Hana replied. “Long distance relationships can be hard.”

Brigitte let out a hearty laugh. “My mama does want me to video chat when I get the chance. They all get so needy when I get around and I sure hope she isn’t taking care of their baths and litter boxes all by herself.”

“What?”

“One of them is still a kitten so I couldn’t take her on the trip,” Brigitte said. “Hope I’m back soon enough to see her take her first few steps. Maybe during the holidays…Hana, you okay?”

Hana looked down at her lap to hide her blush. “Oh, it’s nothing!”

Hana was actually thankful to hear her earpiece ring, putting a finger to her headphones to get a better read on Ana’s call. “Lindholm? Song? Do you hear me?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we? Is something wrong?” Brigitte replied.

“I was hoping you two might be able to answer that for me,” Ana sounded worried, the shuffling of her cloak implying she was going at a rapid pace at her post. “I’ve been trying to contact Fareeha and Angela for the past few minutes with no response.”

“Do you think their communicators got damaged?” Hana asked.

“One being damaged is nothing to bat an eye at,” Ana said. “But two at the same time and I just know there’s trouble brewing. Hana, can you leave the safe house and fly up to the North Wing? They might need your defenses until help is available.”

“Roger,” Hana said.

“Brigitte, Reinhardt and your father should be heading to your location soon. Meet them halfway and spread out far enough to survey the location. We don’t need any more accidents.”

“Copy that, Commander.” Hana and Brigitte were exiting the cafeteria as soon as the message cut off. Brigitte put her flail over her shoulder, offering Hana a supportive nod.

“We’ll take care of this,” she said. “Think you’ll be able to handle it if anything gets rough?”

“My mech can take twice the amount of damage it did before,” Hana replied, queuing the elevator for the storage compartment. “Don’t fret.”

The soft smile Brigitte gave Hana as the doors slid open was all she needed to be grinning into her hand. She smacked her cheeks a few times, embarrassed by her flushed expression. She was never one to keep a poker face during online matches and definitely couldn’t keep one up around a cute ponytail wearing mechanic that could lift ten times her own weight.

“Huh?”

“Oh, Miss Song! I was just coming down to find you.”

“Oh, hi Sanjay. Commander Amari requested our help, so I need to get to my mech as soon as possible.”

“Not a problem,” Sanjay replied, stepping aside to make room for Hana. “The storage can be a bit tricky to navigate. Please allow me to help you around it.”

“Thanks,” Sanjay hit the button to the highest level of the safe house, arms behind his back as he took up a awkward rocking on the balls of his feet.

“Miss Song,” He began. “I want you to understand that the grand scope of Vishkar’s image is only for the sake of a greater good.”

Hana nodded, already feeling the two of them slipping into forced small talk until they reached their destination. “I kinda got the gist just from being in here. You really push for perfection, huh? Should have figured in a place called Utopea.”

“A very grandiose title, I know, but it was in our best interest in to make a perfect society a tangible reality. Oasis is the same, I believe. Always seeking out the best possible ways to improve our lives, no matter who may have to get hurt in the process.”

“No one _has_ to get hurt,” Hana said. “That’s why we’re here. Overwatch seems to have the best intentions to just keep people safe. I was on the fence about them at first but protecting others really does seem to be their priority.”

“What a noble cause,”

Hana felt her cheeks burn again just at the word. “Yeah, like modern day knights.”

Sanjay forced a smile. “Perhaps you should keep that in mind for just a few seconds. Don’t throw a fit and it will all go smoothly.”

“What do you mean?”

As an answer to her question, Sanjay closed the distance between them, using what Hana assumed was limited combat training to restrain her. Her arm was forced behind her back, cheek meeting the wall of the elevator as she tried to force Sanjay off of her. “What are you doing? Sanjay?”

“Doctor’s orders,” Sanjay said glumly as he reached into a part of his clothing Hana couldn’t see. Hana tightened her eyes closed, prepared for the worst until she felt something sink into the side of her neck, right through the protective build of her jumpsuit. The faint whistle of a plunger being pressed down eliciting a scream out of her, thrashing just enough to throw Sanjay off her person.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I promise.”

She reached towards her neck and immediately pulled it out, noticing that it was the pinch of a syringe that had already emptied its contents into her body.

Something purple rested inside the glass casing, nothing but small drops now that the rest was lingering somewhere in her bloodstream.

Hana turned over the syringe in her hands to see no obvious signs of ownership, panic overwhelming her senses as she glared daggers in the man’s direction, Sanjay’s expression being anything but satisfied.

“What the hell was that?”

“My apologies, Miss Song. Direct orders.”

“You...” She was before him soon enough, using what little strength she had to grab him by the collar and slam him into the wall as he did to her.

Hana had only the minimum for self defense training, what with her primary threat being machines too massive for a single human to handle, but adrenaline did most of the work for her at the right time.

“Miss Song, please-!” Hana sent a left hook into Sanjay’s jaw, not enough to draw blood but she could hear a few teeth rattling in place from the blow.

“What did you do to me?!”

“There’s no point explaining,” Sanjay said. “You’re wasting your breath-Jesus, _ahh!_ ” It was a knee to his groin that had him hunched over, Hana finally giving him the permission to fall to his knees only with the hope that it might break his legs on the way down.

Despite the anger overwhelming her, Hana couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit bad about hitting another human being. It was no gun to the temple, let alone a syringe of God-knows-what to the neck, but it still gave her a crawling, slithering feeling she couldn’t quite get over. It felt like something slimy and repulsive was crawling up her throat…No, something definitely was.

“Hana, I’m in position. Let me know when you find Angela and Fareeha.” It was Brigitte, sounding as calm and optimistic as usual and oblivious to the assault Hana had just witnessed.

“Brigitte? Brigitte, I’m in trouble. I'm-Ah…” Hana dry heaved a few times, unable to catch her vomit until it fell to her feet. Blood. A lot of it. “Oh God-!”

Hana barely even registered herself collapsing, her knees buckling under her as she fell to the hard floor, curling in on herself as the pain began to build and spread.

“Damn it… I need-” Her silent plead was cut off by a violent cough, luckily more saliva than blood. Or at least that was what her blurring vision would imply.

“Are you okay? Hana, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m heading to the storage compartment in the safe house. You need to help me, it’s S-” Hana felt her headset being yanked off, Sanjay having recovered from the earlier blow and throwing it aside. Despite the limited space in the elevator, Hana couldn’t quite muster the strength to even crawl on her belly, the siren song of Brigitte’s voice on the other end beckoning to her.

“Hana? Hana what did you say? I’m coming right now, don’t mo-” It was a simple stomp of his foot that cut off Hana’s only beacon of hope, Sanjay kicking the remainder off to the side as if disgusted by his own mess. Hana felt panic overwhelm her as she tried to stand up, her hands desperately clutching at the flat surface of the elevator walls.

“You can’t just-Ah!”

Hana felt like every inch of her skin was trying to escape her body, crying for release and prickling over like a handful of needles. There was an audible sloshing of her brain and the contents of her stomach that overwhelmed her senses, easing her into a state of nausea that seemed to get worse with every subtle movement. All she could do was lay down, right next to the pile of blood and chewed food that was streaking her skin.

The light overhead bored down on her fallen body, forcing her to squint until everything around her was roughly an outline of its true form. Hana thought the last time she was truly going to die was after imploding her own mech, just barely getting by on a broken leg and shattered arm when she could have easily drowned to death. And that was only because she avoided the shrapnel of her machine and the Gwishin that took the bulk of the blow for her.

That was painful, every second of it, and yet that moment seemed far more merciful compared to what was happening now. Her heart seemed to be thumping two-fold just to remind her that she was still alive, pumping more blood she was going to spit back out with each hollow thump. Hana tried to speak through the cocktail of saliva and blood filling her mouth.

“Brigitte…” Her eyelids were getting heavy, what may be her final words settling on her tongue. It was only when she felt the sweet embrace of unconsciousness overwhelming her that there was any other sign of life on the horizon. Something dark began to approach her, swirling and turning in on itself before becoming solid. They were steadily coming closer, their steps slow and their face obscured by the glare of the harsh sun.

“Hmmm…Brigitte. You’re here. I knew you’d find me…”

Hana tried to move her hand, her fingers letting out a desperate little twitch and nothing more. Who was before her let out a gentle laugh, leaning down to her sunken form and placing a hand in her hair. Their touch treaded along her scalp and down to her cheek and she felt herself lean into the gesture-an act of kindness during what could be her final moments. “Brigitte...”

“It’s done,” Sanjay said. “What exactly was in that syringe?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Said the woman as she scooped up Hana from the floor of the elevator, cradling her in her arms.

“Brigitte, you really are like a knight. My prince charming…” Hana mustered the strength for a smile, her face burying itself into the chest of her savior. She was gonna be okay. 

The figure spoke to her, their voice low. “No more words. It’s time to sleep,  _coinín_ _beag_.”

“Why?”

“Go to sleep,” They repeated, and Hana could vaguely make out the shine of their eyes. It was a piercing shade of red and blue that haunted a dreamless slumber.


	12. Sekhmet

“Brigitte! Brigitte Lindholm open this door!”

The only response Angela received was a low grumble, making the doctor all the more peevish. Even for someone as patient as her, there were the few moments something would push her over the edge and she’d come back smelling faintly of smoke. The most recent mission would do that to someone like her, especially when they had a possible hostage or murder situation on their hands.

Fareeha decided to keep quiet, her back against the wall as Angela continued to alternate between knocking and banging on Brigitte’s door.

“It’s been a week, Brigitte. You promised you’d be out of here by Thursday for dinner. You missed the first two but the third times the charm…” Angela forced a smile at her own joke though it didn’t meet her eyes at all. Brigitte didn’t even offer the courtesy of another grumble; the sounds of sheets being pulled over her head being the only response they were granted.

“Maybe we should go,” Fareeha said, placing a hand on Angela’s shoulder and trying to push her aside.

“And what? Let her rot in there for another week? I won’t allow it.”

“Angela, it’s been rough for everyone ever since what happened,” Fareeha said. “Brigitte will come out when she’s ready.”

“But how soon will that be?”

As soon as we can confirm Hana’s not Talon chow, Fareeha thought glumly. “I say we give her time, is all. She’ll be more motivated to leave her room the less we force ourselves on her. Don’t you think so?”

Angela sighed, rubbing her temple. “I just want to make sure she’s eating.”

“Reinhardt said she was,” Fareeha said. “I don’t see why she would lie to him.”

That seemed to get Angela making her way out of the hallway, though Fareeha had to keep a hold on her shoulders to stay on the path to the nearest elevator. Their ride to the higher floor was mostly silent aside from Angela quietly chewing on her thumbnail.

“We’ve done all we can,” Fareeha said. “I think I can get Torbjörn to talk to her again. Trust me, he’s taking it way worse than you.”

“You’re right. I’m just glad she’s not sitting in that warehouse all day,” Angela said between her teeth. “But I imagine the place she spent so much time bonding with Hana wouldn’t be the best.”

Fareeha only nodded, the two of them now back on the main floor that was closer to Angela’s office. “I have to get some work done. Winston and Jack are trying to track down Hana by any means possible and my suit isn’t going to repair itself.

“Need any help with that?”

Angela shook her head. “No, but I appreciate the offer. I’ll see you soon, Fareeha.”

“See ya,” They went their separate ways and Fareeha didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Angela was out of sight Their first real confrontation with Talon and it ended like this.

Hana’s disappearance wasn’t something anyone in the new reformed Overwatch needed right now. This wasn’t just any lone pilot, this was D.Va, the savior of Korea and the star of MEKA. She was a beloved celebrity and there was only so much time left before her fanbase and the Busan government began to cast suspicion on her absence.

It been awhile since they departed from Utopea with a few Talon soldiers out of the way but the main culprits still at large, not giving them many answers on who and what was behind the infiltration in the first place. Even Fareeha knew that an organized terrorist organization like Talon didn’t attack without purpose. They weren’t Junkers, didn’t loot and destroy for the sheer joy of it but for a primary goal.

Reports back from Sanjay confirmed that the inventory on the NeuroVish Brain Implant hadn’t changed in the slightest. No dramatic shortages to report, just a few dead employees and walls to rebuild. What would likely be the object of their infiltration was an unlikely alibi and that only made Hana’s disappearance all the more harrowing. Fareeha was no stranger to these types of set ups, creating a bigger and more disastrous event to cover up something else.

The Talon troops were just faceless goons meant to distract and disorient them while their top hacker cornered the two of them, Dr. Ziegler being the primary target.

Sombra, if Fareeha could recall correctly, was an odd one among the group but not any less dangerous. A woman of her intellect and broader scope of technology was a force to be reckoned with and whatever she had transferred over to Angela’s suit was no ordinary malfunction. The hack that had been placed on them did only last a few minutes at the most but Sombra’s infection was passed onto Angela and stuck, rendering the suit a hazard to even wear.

The litter of options Talon had to offer only made Hana’s disappearance more mysterious. Unless they were pumping up the theatrics to unveil her untimely death, then something else was clearly at stake.

Fareeha’s observation? Hana was still alive, but for how long? And when they found her again, would she be the same?

There was setting up distractions to kill an agent and then there was the careful plotting necessary to drag them back to their personal hell. And it was the chances of the latter that had Fareeha constantly checking in with Winston for any updates.

“ _Habībti_ , is that you? I know that mumbling anywhere.”

Fareeha stopped her pacing, just now realizing she was talking to herself. A strange habit she picked up when she heard rumors about her mother’s “death” and tended to rear its head in moments of high stress. “Yeah, mom. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to bother you.”

“No, no I actually needed someone in here with me. I’m much too old to be cooking a whole meal on my own.”

Fareeha rolled her eyes but chuckled, stepping into the kitchen to be greeted by warm smells of onions and parsley steaming away in a pan. Ana was moving some vegetables around with a wooden spatula, a single paper taped up over the stove with instructions for the dish in her handwriting.

“ _Ful medames_ …” Fareeha said to herself, the mixture of ingredients sparking up some old memories of her childhood on base. It was only on a few rare occasions when Ana would take time preparing a meal just for her, the cafeteria being serviceable enough for an impressionable toddler. “I haven’t had this in years.”

“Special occasion, I guess. Thought I’d treat the base to something a little hardy.”

“When is your cooking not hardy?”

“Listen, if I had Reinhardt in here, we’d be having bratwurst for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My arteries still don’t forgive me for letting him make that chowder.”

Fareeha felt herself naturally smile for once that day, making her way over to a counter while rolling up her sleeves.

“Well I’ve always wanted to know about that secret ingredient you never told me about. If you say it’s ‘motherly love’, I’m not buying it.”

Ana laughed, playfully nudging Fareeha in the arm. “Just cut up those peppers for me. I’ll handle the onions. I’ve got one less eye to cry out of, anyway.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes, the sounds and smells of home making Fareeha feel more at peace than she did for a while. She had fantasized about moments like this before, a regular mother-daughter relationship all about licking the sauce off spoons and helping her do the dishes. Fareeha remembered setting the table and sitting on a stack of books so she could see everyone, a stuffed animal or two occupying a chair to keep a vet’s seat warm.

But if it made her happy, why did she feel like crying?

“Nice work, my little chef.” Ana took the cutting board off the counter and scraped the peppers into the pan with the edge of the knife. “I wonder where you get such steady hands from.”

Ana took a deep inhale of the combination of ingredients, wafting some into her nose. “Ahh, that’s more like it! But it needs something…”

“Secret ingredient time?”

“I guess you’re old enough to know how I got that extra special something in this,” Ana opened up the pantry, pulling out a plastic container of paprika. “Here it is! My secret revealed.”

“Paprika? You kept that from me all this time.”

“Just the slightest little changes can make all the difference _, habībti_. You miss it just once and the whole taste is thrown off,” Ana shook the spice into the pan before stirring it around a few times. “You could say I’ve gotten used to things being more on schedule. A life of excitement doesn’t suit me.”

“For once, I’m starting to see the appeal of that,” Fareeha said. “But you did great out in the field. You haven’t lost your touch.”

“Give it a month or so and I’ll lose it again,” Ana replied. “Will Brigitte be joining us for dinner?”

Fareeha shook her head. “No, despite what me and Angela tried to do. Reinhardt insists we just leave her be.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Ana said. “She is an Overwatch brat after all. You kids were raised to have values and all the compassion in the world. She’s still young and new to this, needs time to adjust.”

“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop on their conversations, but I don’t think Brigitte’s had much time to make friends besides Reinhardt for awhile. It probably felt nice to find someone who liked the same stuff she did.”

“Those two were awfully close,” Ana said. “And yet they seem to come from completely different worlds. That’s what I’ve always liked about this place: bringing people together despite their differences. We could have best friends miles away from us and never know what we were missing.”

Ana covered the pan with a lid, setting the flame down to a low simmer. “Every generation of Lindholm has been like that,” she said. “Stubborn to a fault but dedicated to a cause. Brigitte has all the right things in her system, and yet it can cause her so much pain.”

“Mom,” Fareeha said. “Do you think Hana is going to be okay? Will we reach her in time?”

“Don’t panic, I’m sure Hana will be alright.” Ana said, resting a hand on Fareeha’s shoulder. “With the people we have on our team now, there’s no way we’ll go many days without locating her. Even if she isn’t with us now, she’s still in good hands.”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t doubt that Hana won’t ever be found it’s just…” She hesitated for a minute, something hitching in her throat as if she had swallowed something.

“What is it? Tell me, _habībti_. I’m right here.”

Fareeha met her mother’s stare, the woman she spent so much time out of her life never knowing was alive standing before her. The woman presumed dead for so long confirmed to be here and fighting with only another eye and respectable reputation to lose.

Right then, Fareeha finally realized why she felt like crying. “I don’t want her to know pain like I did.”

* * *

Her suit was suspended on a gurney as if it were a monster come to life. With the time she was spending just to keep it from lashing out at her, she may as well be dealing with a rabid animal. A couple days she was at this and still no progress.

“Tricky one, that Sombra. She certainly isn’t making my day any easier,” Angela placed a careful scalpel against the fabric of her suit, a few lines of purple electricity zapping her hand away. “Ah! _Verdamnt_!”

The scalpel clattered to the floor, Angela being forced to disobey all health procedures by using the tip of her flat to shove it closer to her chair. She tossed it into a lukewarm sink of sanitizer, resting her head against the back of her chair as she stared up at the glaring light on her ceiling.

It was a cruel realization that even if she did have the full array of skills to undo whatever damage Sombra’s hack did to her suit, she wouldn’t have the focus or time to even get close to decoding it. Just being near the damn thing was a safety hazard and she was lucky that wearing it for a few extra seconds on the battlefield didn’t completely incapacitate her.

For what notes Angela could gather about the effects, Sombra’s meddling had riddled her Swift Response Suit with a million little glitches. Minor inconveniences on any other day, but all at once and it was near useless: the self-healing material couldn’t register her body chemistry, the jetpack disguised as wings could sputter and spark enough to set her on fire, and the visor resembling a halo had lost any data relevant to reading vital signs of her comrades.

And above all, the link between her staff and the suit couldn’t be recalibrated no matter how many times she tried. The staff itself was still in good use but would need an entirely new uniform to ever function to its full potential.

There were a few other miniscule bits and pieces that Angela didn’t have the patience to handle at the moment, but the core benefits of the Swift Response Suit being put to shambles would force her to start from scratch.

She knew Sombra was intelligent, probably one of the brightest and most cunning Talon operatives, but the meticulous detail of the virus had Angela baffled. When and where could Sombra possibly get her hands on such information to the point she could reverse engineer every little detail so efficiently?

The official blueprints of the Swift Response Suit was decades old now, one of few things Angela was able to keep on her person after Overwatch disbanded. Sombra may be a hacker, but it was near impossible for her to come across such information that simply was out of her reach without Angela noticing.

Unless, of course…“No, not possible. But, it could be…”

 _Ring! Ring!_ The sound of her cellphone going off shook Angela out of her thoughts and her slumped position, startled by just how long it’s been since she’s even heard her ringtone.

If anyone wanted to speak to Angela, they’d need to have access to Overwatch’s private hotline and go through a secretary and waiting list to reach the medical branch. And even on the few occasions it was necessary, only top clients in close relation to her would even know the first three numbers. If she was lucky, the voice on the other end would be that of a telemarketer and she could hang up without any consequences. But if not, well…

Desperately needing a distraction from her tarnished suit, Angela pushed on her heels to set her chair into a roll and grabbed her phone off the desk.

UNKNOWN NUMBER. Always a good sign.

Angela accepted the call with a hesitant, “Hello?”

“Good evening, Dr. Ziegler. Thank goodness you answered.”

“Dr. Al-Shahrani?” Angela got up from her seat, trying to straighten out her skirt as if the Minister of Geology was before her. “Uh, good evening. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, but I can’t say I am.” Anya said, and it was then that Angela noticed just how weak and frail she sounded over the phone. Even worse than at the party where it looked like a single gust of wind could have knocked her out of her wheelchair. It was probably for the best this wasn’t in person, her natural instinct to jump to someone’s aid would kick into overdrive just at the sight.

“Oh dear,” Angela said. “My apologies, Anya. I wish I could have done something to help.”

“The greatest minds in the world are all here,” Anya said, laughing softly. “Even they knew I didn’t have much time left. I’ll take their word for it.”

“If this is one of few calls you can make, then you have the floor. If you contacted me, it must be important.”

“I only have so much to say,” Anya replied. “But I do have one request to ask you, Dr. Zi-Ach!” Anya broke into a coughing fit and Angela had to try not to wince out loud at the sound. A woman of Anya’s status would have the best medical equipment at a snap of her fingers and yet she sounded like she had to think to breathe.

“Dr. Al-Shahrani?”

“I-I’m alright,” Anya said, another violent cough interrupting her. “I just wanted to ask if…if you could-”

“Allow me, Minister. Get some rest.” The audio shifted a bit and a sound just as gut wrenching and painful as a dying old woman’s last few words greeted her.

“Angela, pleasure to hear from you again. I hope you don’t mind but I’ll be speaking on Dr. Al-Shahrani’s behalf.”

“How noble of you, Moira.” Angela said, speaking through her teeth. “It feels like it’s been so long since we last talked.”

“And over the phone, no less.” Angela could hear the smile in Moira’s voice and her hands were starting to sweat profusely under her gloves. “I don’t have much time, so I’ll get right to it: Minister of Geology, Dr. Anya Al-Shahrani would like to formally invite you to her funeral.”

“…Her what?”

“Dr. Ziegler, I think we’re both aware of her failing health. It was only a matter of time until this day arrived, and she wanted to use what little words she had to secure you a seat. Only all of Oasis will be there so I can’t say it’s an occasion just anyone can fill.”

“But…it seems a bit inappropriate. I hardly know Dr. Al-Shahrani and I’ll be the only visitor who isn’t an Oasis employee or student.”

“So, you’re declining?”

“I-I didn’t say that! I just…feel a bit confused by the offer. I know Dr. Al-Shahrani and her associates contacted me in the past about a position in Oasis after Overwatch disbanded, but I just had to say no. It didn’t feel right and neither does this.”

“Can’t you assume she respects your work and wants you to honor her own? Dr. Al-Shahrani didn’t care about positions or legal affiliations, just the quality of your pursuits. She founded the city on that logic and wants to preserve it before she passes away,” Moira said. “The least you can do is offer her final wishes.”

Not if you’re going to be there, Angela wanted to say but knew that this wasn’t an option at this point. Denying going to the funeral had nothing to do with her petty disputes with an ex-lover. This was about honoring the dead, something she should have figured out by now. If Angela didn’t arrive on Anya’s request, it would only make her seem disrespectful. She let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll be there.”

“Splendid,” Moira passed any important information about the arrangement down to Angela and hung up. Apparently, the funeral wouldn’t be too far from now, but it would likely be enough time for Angela to tell the others and see if her black dress still fit.

Heading out to Oasis without anyone else would be difficult on its own, especially since it was an invite only event to the most advanced city in the world that had their eye on her years ago.

There was little chance Oasis, and especially Moira, could woo her into joining. She had her responsibilities here and too much on her table to abandon it. Jack would never forgive her, and Ana would encourage her decision to mask her own disappointment.

Then there was Brigitte who needed support more than ever, and Fareeha… “Damn,”

Their conversation in the restroom spoke for itself. They wouldn’t be pursuing anything serious and much rather be friends first and foremost. They were partners. Obviously. Partners who have had sex twice but still partners.

Fareeha’s understanding of Moira was just enough to know nothing good would come of her, but if Angela explained the visit was strictly professional then no one would have a reason to be suspicious, right?

Honoring the legacy of scientist among fellow scientific minds, nothing more, but why did it feel so wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I may have had a huge chunk of this chapter already written ahead of time and I figured I'd pump it out once I finished Angela's portion. So...yay for earlier updates. Hope you enjoyed the mother-daughter feels as much as I enjoyed writing it.


	13. Hesat

“You know this is none of your fault, right?”

“Yes, I know. You’ve told me this a few times now.”

“Just until you believe me, Miss Vaswani. Everything has already been settled.”

“Not _everything_.”

“We’ve done all we can here to figure out about Miss Song’s disappearance and I’m certain Overwatch is pulling just as much of an effort. You haven’t even met this girl in the flesh and you-” Satya’s glare silenced him, forcing Sanjay to cough into his fist before changing the subject. “We can only be so careful in the wake of such a massive scientific discovery and it’s a shame people had to get hurt in the process, but isn’t this just _more_ motivation?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just the thought that something like Talon can exist. People depraved enough to put a young woman, a young icon, into harm’s way for their own means. Don’t you think we could help those people? Maybe neutralize all the parts of their mind that made them that way.”

A perfect world, Satya thought to herself. Peace. No violence or bloodshed. No conflict to resolve.

“Think about the lives you’re going to change, Satya. If anything, you should be all the more motivated to have the NeuroVish available worldwide. Clearly, we’re in desperate need of a much better, safer society.”

Satya nodded, most of Sanjay’s words still going right over her head. Though Talon’s sudden ambush certainly subsided and the damage they’ve done was surprisingly less catastrophic than it could have been, it didn’t give her or anybody else an excuse not to be on their guard. Anyone who were to pass by right now wouldn’t have suspected a collision between a terrorist group and a barely legal strike force-pavements and bodies swept under the rug with time to spare.

Sanjay wasn’t exactly helping matters, having regressed to casual office chatter as if it were merely a fly that got loose in the building and not a missing war hero. “I understand you prefer to take matters into your own hands. That’s why we at Vishkar trust you…why _I_ trust you.”

“I know I’m a valued agent, but I hope you do realize this situation won’t be resolved until Hana’s disappearance has been dealt with,” Satya replied curtly. “People were killed, and the lives that ended ruined the lives of many others. Isn’t that the last thing you want to be associated with the NeuroVish? With our company for that matter?”

Sanjay quirked his brow. “Are you assuming we don’t have the means to defend ourselves next time? We have resources, Satya, always have.”

Satya pursed her lips at the thought of what Sanjay personally considered a “resource” in this kind of pinch. She knew better than anyone that desperate times called for desperate measures and that a broad majority of people on this flawed earth didn’t know what they truly wanted out of life. They all wanted things to be better but would never take the steps to achieve that fantasy.

Vishkar had contemplated making formal connections with more military based organizations in the past, even if Satya certainly had a word to say about it. She would never admit she was wrong about doubting the use of violent reinforcements. It was the reason groups like Overwatch were shut down in the first place and that was the last thing Vishkar needed right now in the middle of their biggest project. No, Satya knew that logic and careful planning was the way, not bullets and bloodshed where it could easily be avoided.

Sanjay folded his arms, staring at his shoes. “I understand that you’re under a lot of stress and that your name is closely linked to the NeuroVish. There are people in this world who would kill to have that kind of power under their thumb and we were only lucky Talon didn’t get to touch any of our inventory or more than a few of our employees.”

Sanjay continued to rattle on, “We can all admit we were lucky Overwatch arrived when they did. There could have been much worse for us to clean up without their help.”

Satya was silent, her stare blank out of the overhead window at the building that was in shambles merely a week ago back in perfect condition.

Sanjay scratched the back of his head, his voice low. “You’re not helping me get into your headspace about all this…Would you have preferred Helix? Is that it?”

Satya’s expression didn’t change, turning on her heel to leave her office. “I’m clocking out now. I will see you tomorrow.”

The transition between Satya leaving her work building, down the steps, and into her car was mostly a blur. Even as she settled her vehicle into a hover and felt the refreshing breeze of the air conditioner blow over her face, her senses seemed to be on autopilot as she navigated her usual pathway home. Down familiar streets and businesses easily dwarfed by the massive influence of Vishkar-all the same and yet none of it right.

GREETINGS SATYA, the sign on her door greeted her as she stepped inside her apartment and watched the A.I that kept it up and running spring to life. Her coffee maker began brewing over the cup she had placed under it and her slippers were right where she left them. It was normally at this point in the day she would mentally plan out a meal and run a bath but the energy just wasn’t there.

No appetite, not enough patience to wait for her tub to fill, all she did was sit down in her living room with the hum of a television she wasn’t watching in the background. The channel was set to the news, the program she watched earlier that day for her morning yoga having concluded hours ago to instead keep up the more thrilling narrative of Overwatch’s controversial return.

Normally Vishkar could keep a tight hold on who and what their residents watched but she supposed Overwatch was deemed worthy to be a regular part of their airing schedule. They were on Utopea property after all, saved just enough people to earn the good word of a few residents.

She rested her hands against her stomach and rolled her head back to watch the ceiling, half listening to the newscast that recapped a banquet Satya wasn’t able to attend. It was here that there was the startling announcement of the Minister of Geology being on her deathbed and funeral arrangements being underway this week.

Another thing Satya wouldn’t mind going to, especially if she would be able to properly thank the Ministers, but she was just much too busy and much too concerned about the weight and conflict her device might be creating. It wasn’t even on store shelves and already a world before it was proving itself more and more worthy of its mind-altering technology.

A familiar woman who always did the evening report stated, “…We have yet to have any truly personable interactions with the returning members of Overwatch, though there have been some interesting faces certain corners of the world wide web have been abuzz about for weeks. The most popular being nineteen-year-old Hana Song from Busan, Korea, a pilot for the Mobile Exo-Force of the Korean Army who stated during an interview that she hopes to utilize Overwatch’s assets and create a branching path between MEKA and the growing global superpower.”

Another voice was soon on screen and Satya turned her head just slightly to see who she assumed was Miss Hana Song.

“I’m more concerned about asserting myself as an agent for Overwatch, someone they can be proud of.” The famed pilot said, a winning grin on her young and soft face that didn’t flinch once at the flash of multiple camera lens and the heads of mics surrounding her. In fact, she seemed incredibly used to the attention. “And maybe MEKA will follow my lead and we can collaborate and create a second branch. Getting here was hard enough and I was mostly requested rather than part of an official Recall. I was the only one out of my group who accepted the invite but I’m sure that will change in due time.”

The recap minimized back to the reporter. “Here with us now, via video chat, we have an exclusive with Pilot Song’s personal technician and companion, Dae-Hyun Park.”

A young man with his name in print beneath him waved from his own private webcam, the bustle of a small but homey room playing in the background. “Thanks a lot for having me on.”

“It’s an honor to speak to what might become a branch of Overwatch someday,” The reporter replied. “Have you and the rest of MEKA been taking Miss Song’s absence well?”

Dae-Hyun chuckled, “Well enough, some of us are faring better than others but Hana says things will be back to normal soon, preferably before the Gwishin pops back up again.”

“The Gwishin?”

“It’s a long story,” Dae-Hyun said, waving his hand dismissively. “When me and Hana chat, it’s mostly just about what she’s up to. Apparently, someone from the Iron Guild is helping her keep her mech up to date while I’m not there. She seems to appreciate their help… _a lot_ …”

The reporter chuckled, “Any details you wouldn’t mind sharing with us about these chats?”

“She wished she had brought more NanoCola and she kinda misses streaming but it’s never anything too formal. We usually talk at least a few times a week to catch up, just so I know how she’s doing,” Dae-Hyun’s expression became uneasy, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s actually been awhile since we last talked but the others just assume she’s busy. Overwatch is way bigger and busier than MEKA by a long shot.”

Satya grimaced, a pang of guilt in her lower stomach. She brought the broadcast to a pause and sat upright, the fading sunlight of an ending day not bringing her the peace she so desperately needed.

Satya was never one to act impulsively, but on the occasions she did, it was because her heart had reached a place her head hadn’t. On instinct alone, she pulled her cellphone out of her uniform pocket and swiped it open, her finger soon resting on the only name that didn’t belong to a coworker.

* * *

“Hey, Brigitte. I’m just dropping off your diner,” Fareeha put the tray down in front of Brigitte’s door, a bottle of water and a small pudding cup beside the main course. “ _It’s ful medames_ , my mom made it. Just send the tray out when you’re done.”

Fareeha turned on her heel to leave, stopping herself when she heard Brigitte’s door slide open almost immediately and their voice calling out. “Fareeha, can you come in, please?”

Fareeha couldn’t quite make out the mechanic’s face from the door’s small opening. She was lucky only the air conditioning was running as she may not have heard the timid whisper Brigitte’s voice had been reduced to. She turned to face her, taking the short walk back down the hall. “Are you sure about that?”

Brigitte nodded, grabbing her tray and quietly entering the room. Fareeha followed, her foot making contact with a stray piece of paper that was soggier than it should have been. She dragged her foot against the carpet until she could say it was off, only for her other shoe to crush a sleeve of crackers. “Oh my God,”

“I know it’s a mess,” Brigitte said, putting her tray down on the limited space her nightstand had as she sat down on her bed. “No need to remind me.”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to say anything.” Fareeha said, trying not to wince at the odor permeating the place. Uncleaned laundry sitting in the corners of the room-what little was still clean not being helped by the strong scent Brigitte reeked of-and food both half eaten and untouched gathered up in the lone wastepaper basket too small to accommodate it all. The television was running on an informercial for a product Brigitte would have no interest in, and in a language none of them knew.

Brigitte’s half of the living quarters was less than stellar and yet Hana’s part was near spotless. Tucked in covers and a spotless floor, it was near uncanny where the mess began and where it ended, as if Brigitte didn’t want to tarnish the memory. Fareeha sighed, sitting down next to Brigitte on the bed.

“Do you wanna talk? Only if you’re ready, though.”

Brigitte only nodded, taking the pudding cup from the tray and piercing the lid open with the top of her spoon. “You go first,”

Fareeha was taken aback from the offer, staring at the TV. “I’m really sorry. I figured you would always know about this part of the job, but I didn’t think you’d experience it so soon. It’s the price to pay for someone’s safety and it hurts no matter what. And for some time, all that’s left is the pain…What I’m saying is, I know how you feel and I’m here for you.”

Brigitte didn’t answer for a few long seconds, stirring the pudding with her spoon with an empty expression.

“You should have heard her,” Was all she said. “She was so scared, the only reason I don’t think she died was because of what you guys tell me…but I don’t really have a reason to believe it. She was coughing and screaming for my help and right when I was picking up enough speed to head back to the safe house, her coms cutoff. It was unnatural, like they were destroyed. All I could hear was static and I still kept pushing forward anyway because I thought…just maybe I’d get there in time.”

“You did what you could, Brigitte. I’m proud of you for sticking to her side no matter what,” Fareeha replied. “And I honestly do think Hana is still alive, we have all the evidence to support it.”

“But is that any better?” Brigitte said. “Either she’s gone for good physically or…in other ways. You’ve told me just enough about Talon to know they don’t just kill for the sake of killing. They have goals, objectives. You saw that woman at the banquet. Her name was Widowmaker, right? No person does that to themselves without someone else pulling the strings. And if they could do that to one person, what will they do to Hana?” 

Brigitte’s voice was cut off by a sob, rubbing the back of her arm against her face. “I don’t know what they want with her. Why couldn’t they just take me? Why wasn’t I there to help her?”

“No, no don’t say that,” Fareeha embraced Brigitte in a hug, letting the younger woman sob quietly into her chest. “Listen, you and I were raised under the same roof and with the same values, and if there’s anything they’ve taught us both it was to never bend or break for anyone. No matter how hard it gets, no matter how scary it might be, we owe it to ourselves and our loved ones to never give up.”

Brigitte’s tears soaked through Fareeha’s tank top, her sobs racking through her whole body.

“Whatever Talon can do to Hana, we can fix.”

“But that woman…she seemed so far gone-”

“Not important,” Fareeha replied. “No amount of changes in the world can make Hana any different than who she is now. And when we find her, and we will, I need you to be there to make sure that happens.”

Brigitte finally pulled her face away, her cheeks and forehead red enough to wash out the natural color of her freckles. She pushed her hair back that was hanging loose without the support of her usual ponytail, her expression still somber but softening just slightly. “But how soon will that be?”

“We still have time,” Fareeha said. “Think you can stay with me long enough to see how this ends?”

Brigitte sighed, “I guess I wouldn’t want my face to be all puffy when she sees me again.”

Fareeha gave Brigitte a pat on the shoulder. “That’s the Lindholm spirit. There’s still room at the dinner table if you want to join us.”

“Not quite ready for that yet,” Brigitte said. “Next time, definitely.”

“One step at a time,” Fareeha got up from the bed and headed towards the door. “I’m always here if you need to talk.”

Fareeha was back in the hallway, ready to head down until her phone ringing caught her off guard. She reached inside the pocket of her jeans and her heart skipped when she saw how familiar the numbers were.

She still has my number? And why didn’t I block hers? Fareeha hesitated long enough that her phone would have gone to voicemail after the next ring. The knot in her stomach told her to decline but the guilt of her speech from earlier prompted her to do otherwise. Accept call. “Hello, Satya.”

“Oh, I was afraid I’d have to leave a message. Good, because this is of the upmost importance. Are you alone?”

“Technically, yes.”

“That will do,” Fareeha could hear Satya shift in her chair. The faint humming of music behind her implied she was likely in the privacy of her own home now, away from work where her call would have less chance of being monitored. “I know some time has passed since that incident and I actually wanted to see how things were going for you.”

“Uh, I’m fine,” Fareeha said, still oblivious as to why Satya would be calling her after all this time. It’s been years and she wanted to start things off with a casual chat over the phone? Not likely. “Things have just been a little tense lately with Hana’s disappearance.”

“Yes, Sanjay informed me about that. Other than that, he wanted to thank you for helping us. I wish I could have done more.”

“It’s fine, we all did what we could. Don’t think this is the last time we’ll be on Talon’s tail,” Fareeha said. “This time they’ve gone too far.”

“And it’s that that has me worried,” Satya replied. “Talon’s infiltration only proves that we can never predict the next time anyone else ambushes us. We were only lucky you arrived when you did and the chances of stock not changing just raises more questions than answers. They were after something and I assure you that your agent is just a small part of that equation.”

Fareeha furrowed her brow, nodding. “You might have a point there, but where exactly do I fall into this? Why did you call me?”

“I have a job to do here and I can’t let anymore disturbances get in the way of progress on the NeuroVish. I know you don’t exactly agree to Vishkar’s vision, but this is the one chance I have to make the differences I want in this world,” Satya’s voice was heavy, vastly different than the usually control and elegance she put face-first. “You don’t have the trust them, you don’t even have to trust me, but can you please be by my side just long enough for me to figure out what might be amiss?”

“Y-You want me to come to Utopea?”

“Affirmative,”

“But, Satya-”

“I believe it’s fair to say you have an arsenal of skills I don’t possess myself. You’ve been in Helix for years, you have the knowledge and strength to do what I can’t. I can’t always be on my guard, but you can. I promise, it will only be temporary until I get to the bottom of this. Until I can say everyone is safe…if I’m safe.”

Satya was silent for a moment, her voice regaining its composure. “I can arrange for you to come to Utopea no later than tomorrow night. Even one employee dying because of this is project is one too many. The same with any of your agents, for that matter.”

Fareeha didn’t quite have the conscience to consider leaving everyone behind in Gibraltar on such short notice, but Satya just might push her closer to a solution. Hana was still gone, Talon could strike again at any moment, and the threat of those both being in their hands was nightmarish enough on its own. Better late than never but better now than too late. “So, you want me to be like a bodyguard?”

“You could say that,” Satya said. “We’ll go into the specifics when you arrive. Just pack up and I’ll see you soon.”

The call ended there, the flat dial tone contrasting the rapid pace of Fareeha’s thoughts.


End file.
